


Pinky Swear

by Czigany



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: AU, Gen, Pre-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:05:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Czigany/pseuds/Czigany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sesshōmaru has lived a very long time and seen quite a lot of fantastical things, but when a small, scruffy human stumbles into his shop, he finds that he may just have something to protect once more. Updates sporadically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Getting Away

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really _do_ authors' notes, so this is the only time this gets said. I know just enough about both _Harry Potter_ and _Inuyasha_ to get myself in trouble. That means that while this will occasionally flirt with the established plots of both, expect inconsistencies. It is both fanfiction and AU for a reason. in any case, thank you for reading. Do enjoy, and if there's something you think ought to be worked in, just tell me and I'll do my best.

The days slipped by almost peacefully now, and it was rare that Sesshōmaru did not lament the loss of the untamed forests he used to patrol. He lounged idly in the window of the small shop he now ran, looking like nothing more than an intricately carved statue as he watched the crowds pass on the street outside.  
  
London was a far cry from the fortress of his father, but he had left that to Inuyasha when he could no longer ignore his wanderlust. Sesshōmaru had settled briefly in various places around the globe, but rarely stayed long enough to put down significant roots.  
  
It had been the kitsune’s idea to turn the treasures he acquired and sent back to the fortress into a business. It flourished, and the yōkai lord found himself spending time in key countries setting up shops from which they could begin to import and export wonders both mundane and magical.  
  
When it was time for him to move on, Shippō would dispatch a trusted advisor, usually tanuki or kitsune, to take over the location. Sesshōmaru would stay for a few years, letting them acclimate to the new culture and introducing them to both suppliers and clients as an apprentice before he took his leave.  
  
This was not his first time in London, nor even his second. As time passed and mortal governments began restricting magic, he returned to oversee the separation of his wares in each country. He chafed at the need to hide but bowed to the inevitable. Because the company had been in operation so long, however, often their magical stores still sat in the midst of mundane shopping centres rather than along the hidden streets and alleys that developed.  
  
He was therefore fairly surprised when a small boy, no older than five, burst through the door of his Oxford Street branch. Shutting it quickly, the scruffy child hardly glanced around before ducking beneath a table and staring back at the entrance fearfully.  
  
Curious as to this interruption of his normal routine, Sesshōmaru flicked a glance back at the street to see what could have spooked the boy and found a large, unpleasant looking man peering in the windows of the other half of his business. Unimpressed, he flared his yōki in warning and felt the acknowledgement from the four-tail masquerading as a human next door. He waited until he spotted the kitsune emerging to politely enquire of the man’s business before turning back to the child huddled fearfully on his floor.

\---

At a month shy of five years old, young Harry Potter had a lot of experience running away. Usually, he was running from his cousin, but occasionally his uncle would work himself into frenzy and come after the small boy yelling and spitting.  
  
It wasn’t as though he courted trouble, but they’d been down on Oxford Street to find Dudley his 24th birthday present when something had happened. Harry hadn’t even known what was going on until a hand at his back casually shoved him into traffic. One moment he’d been falling into the path of a city bus and the next he was crumpled on the opposite sidewalk trying to calm his racing heart.  
  
He’d glanced back across the street to see Dudley faking a cry and Vernon working himself into a purple-faced fury. When he’d met his uncle’s eyes through the stopped traffic, he’d known that the only thing waiting for him back there was pain. In a split second he’d decided that it was the perfect opportunity to execute the plan nearly all children have brewing somewhere in their minds. It was time for Harry Potter to run away and never return to Number Four, Privet Drive.  
  
He’d sprinted down Oxford Street dodging other pedestrians until he’d seen the door that seemed to wink into existence beside one that was nearly identical. One last check behind him confirmed Vernon storming up the street, nearly bowling people over in his single-minded purpose. Sucking in a sharp breath, Harry had zipped behind a particularly loud group of ladies stepping out of a boutique and snatched open the door that it seemed only he could see.  
  
Now he was huddled beneath a table in what appeared to be a very pricey antiques shop and he could only hope that the owner wouldn’t kick him out until his uncle was well away. He shivered as he felt a rush of... something... wash over him and then recede.  He was about to crawl out from his hiding place to check the street when a pale hand entered his field of vision.  
  
Shrinking back, he followed that hand up a white-clad arm to a tall, regal man. Golden eyes watched him solemnly from a pale face framed by silver hair. When Harry hesitated still, the man withdrew silently, returning a moment later only to slide a small tea service complete with biscuits next to the boy and retreat again.  
  
Harry peeked out from his refuge, staring with wide green eyes as the strange pale man locked the door to the shop and moved to sit, still as a statue, in the window. When he didn’t do anything other than stare out at the crowds on the street, Harry turned back to the tea he’d been given. Ignoring the milk and sugar, the young boy sipped the hot drink and nibbled the treats as he looked around the shop.

\---

Sesshōmaru outwardly ignored the small child, relying on his hearing and the faint reflections in the glass before him to alert him of movement. The little human was odd, though the yōkai lord had often felt that the magic of humans was a strange thing. Still, this one was skittish, something he hadn’t dealt with in a child in what seemed like centuries.  
  
He didn’t turn when Hanami, the kitsune who minded the mundane antiquities, appeared from the back room and approached. Bowing, she waited for his yōki to flicker in acknowledgement before speaking.  
  
“Sesshōmaru-sama, the gentleman claimed to have been searching for his nephew.” Both yōkai ignored the sharp breath from where the boy still hid, and she continued. “I informed him that no children had been in the shop all day, but if I were to see one matching the given description, I would contact him at once.”  
  
The lord turned then, his unblinking gaze settling on his employee. Hanami produced a card and held it out, her own eyes still on the polished wooden floor. “The gentleman’s information, Sesshōmaru-sama.”  
  
He plucked the card from her hands almost carelessly, golden gaze sliding to meet worried green. He dismissed Hanami with another silent flicker of power and once she had left, Sesshōmaru glanced down at the card in his hand. Committing what it contained to memory, he locked eyes with the boy once more as he allowed his acid to reduce the paper to nothing.  
  
The sweet smell of it wreathed him like perfume as he moved towards the table. Removing the tea service, the yōkai lord once more reached a hand out to the child. This time, his soft, deep voice accompanied it. “Come.”  
  
“You’re going to send me back to my uncle’s, aren’t you?”  
  
The tiny voice that asked the question was tinged with both fear and sadness even as the boy slipped his hand into Sesshōmaru’s and allowed himself to be pulled from his hiding place. Rather than answer, the lord only asked, “What is your name?”  
  
“Harry Potter, sir,” the child replied, fingers worrying the hem of his over-large t-shirt. He kept his head bowed but stared up through messy black fringe.  
  
Gesturing silently for the boy to follow, Sesshōmaru made his way towards the back rooms and the stairway there that led to his apartments above. Seating himself at a low table in his study, he waited as Harry hesitantly followed suit before speaking again. “Your parents?”  
  
“They died in a car crash, sir. At least, that’s what my aunt says.”  
  
Sesshōmaru did not pay much attention to the goings on of humans, magical or not, but the uproar and disruption of business that had occurred nearly four years previous was not something he could afford to ignore. It was the reason he had returned to London, in fact. They watched each other for a moment until Harry began to fidget.  
  
“You are nervous.” It was not a question. “You do not wish to return to your aunt and uncle.”  
  
Harry seemed to shrink into himself, eyes fixed on the dark wood between them as he muttered a weak, “No, sir.”  
  
Another small silence, then, “Where will you go?”  
  
This question startled the child and he looked up with wide emerald eyes. “I...”  
  
Sesshōmaru met his gaze solidly, then turned to look at the photos and portraits that decorated the walls of each of his homes. Almost idly, he seemed to talk to them. “There is room here. Tomorrow I will contact your uncle.”

\---

Harry wasn’t sure what to think when the pale man stood. On the one hand, he’d been offered a place to sleep - he thought that’s what the man had implied - but on the other, the man was a stranger and was likely going to send him back to Privet Drive. Still, when the man started off down the hallway, Harry couldn’t help but follow. When they reached a kitchen, he wondered if the man wanted him to cook something, but a pale hand flashed towards a small table against one wall and he cautiously took a seat.  
  
Bright green eyes watched as the tall man removed several items from the refrigerator. His hands moved too quick for Harry to follow, but soon a sandwich and cup of milk were set on the table. When he didn’t reach for the food, there was a faint huff from the man before he retreated to the counter to clean up the ingredients he’d used.  
  
“This Sesshōmaru will not harm you. Eat.”  
  
Harry did as he was told. The meal was good, if simple, and more than he’d had to eat in one sitting for quite some time. When he was finished, the man took the plate and glass before he could bring them to the sink to wash.  
  
“Thank you, sir,” he said quietly, fingers again twisted in his clothing.  
  
There was a soft ‘hmm’ and the man once more turned down the hallway. Harry followed him back to the study hesitantly. When they had seated themselves again, the small boy couldn’t help himself. Almost fearfully, he begged, “Please don’t send me back to my Uncle’s, sir.”  
  
The man regarded him silently. “Explain.”  
  
So he did. The yelling and the punishments; his chores and sleeping arrangements; the neighbors who didn’t care and only turned blind eyes; Vernon and Petunia and most especially Dudley. He stared at his hands as he spoke, embarrassed to be telling this all to a stranger yet unable to leave out anything that could delay his return to that house. In doing so, however, he missed the hardening of cool gold eyes and the minute twitch of claws against dark wood. When he had spilled it all, Harry finally peeked up through his fringe. The man was once again staring to the side. Without a word, he rose.  
  
“Sir..?” Harry ventured.  
  
“This Sesshōmaru has business to attend to,” His voice was low, with a rough quality that made the black-haired boy shiver. “Do as you please, but do not leave the apartment.”  
  
In a swirl of white, Harry was alone.

\---

Sesshōmaru took refuge on the roof. Despite the smells of the city, the brisk winds and cool night air soothed him more than the stale, recycled air of his apartments below. It took only a brief flare of his yōki to bring Hanami to him. “Inform Shippō that I require his services,” the Lord ordered in a voice barely heard over the wind.  
  
She was silent as he paused, watching the city move below them.  
  
“Contact the boy’s uncle as well,” Sesshōmaru added after a moment. “Tell him that I have business with him. The Suite should be sufficient to receive him.”  
  
“As you will it, Sesshōmaru-sama,” she murmured, bowing before she retreated to do as he asked.


	2. Explanations and Accusations

Vernon Dursley was enjoying a hearty breakfast, prepared by his lovely wife for the first time in the few months since she’d begun teaching the brat to cook. The freak was getting better, but he still had a tendency to burn the bacon a bit and leave the toast in too long. Petunia had nervously asked him about the boy with an eye to what the neighbors would say when it got out he was missing, and Vernon had heaved a sigh and said he’d take care of it. If nothing else, he could claim they’d sent him away to a boarding school for troubled young lads and be done with it.  
  
It was as he was tucking away the last of his third helping that the telephone rang. Wondering who would be calling so early on a Monday morning, Petunia rushed to answer it before their precocious son. Vernon was contemplating fourths when his wife returned, saying that the call was for him. Curious, he made his way into the hall and picked up the receiver.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
The voice on the other end was vaguely familiar. “Mr. Dursley?”  
  
“Yes? Who is this?”  
  
“Helen, from the antiques shop on Oxford Street. We met yesterday.”  
  
Oh. Right. “Well, did you find my nephew?”  
  
“I did not, Mr. Dursley. However, my employer has asked to meet with you.”  
  
“What for?”  
  
“He informed me that he has a business proposal for you, if you’re interested. I believe you left quite an impression on him yesterday.”  
  
A business proposal? Well, it wouldn’t hurt to hear the man out, at least. “Very well. What’s his name?”  
  
“Mr. White. Are you free today around three, Mr. Dursley?”  
  
Vernon hemmed and hawed for a moment; he didn’t want to look too anxious. “I suppose I could clear my schedule.”  
  
“Excellent. I’ll send a car around at three.”  
  
They said their goodbyes, and Vernon called in to work before sauntering back to the kitchen with a smug look on his face.

 

\---

Harry woke up much later than usual. Scrambling from the soft bed he didn’t recall falling asleep in, he darted frantically to the kitchen. Ever since Aunt Petunia had begun to teach him to cook, he was expected to be up before the rest of the household and begin breakfast. Now he’d overslept, and the pale man was sure to be angry at him for it. He darted around the corner and was pulled up short at the sight of an unfamiliar person humming cheerfully while something bubbled away on the stove.  
  
The auburn-haired man turned and spotted him. Wiping his hands on a towel and smiling, he checked the stove, and waved Harry closer. “Sorry, sorry! I didn’t realise you were awake!”  
  
Harry stayed in the doorway, watching the man with solemn eyes. He’d looked through every room the night before and determined that the tall man lived alone. Though he’d been a bit terse, the stranger who ran the shop had kept his word and had not harmed him. This newcomer was an as-yet unknown, and Harry found himself bracing for the dressing down he half-expected to receive over not having a meal ready for early company.  
  
Sighing softly, the man eased closer, kneeling when he was just within arm’s reach. He held out a hand. “Let’s start with introductions, then. I’m Shippō. What’s your name?”  
  
“Harry Potter, sir,” he muttered, folding his hands in his hem.  
  
“None of that now, Harry Potter,” Shippō grinned. “Would you like some breakfast? I was just making a bit of rice, but I’m sure Shō has some cereal or fruit around if you’d rather.”  
  
He stared up at the strange man, green eyes meeting green, before he looked down again. “Cereal, please.”  
  
Harry half-expected Shippō to either laugh and tell him to get it himself or that it was too bad and he wasn’t getting anything at all. Instead, the chipper man stood and waved towards the small table he’d eaten at the night before. “Have a seat and I’ll find where Shō keeps his cereal, then!”  
  
Harry watched, almost amused, as Shippō darted around the kitchen, grumbling under his breath about dogs and organising and ‘just who did the shopping last time, anyway?’ Finally, there was a bowl of Cheerios and a glass of fruit juice in front of him but he was hesitant to touch them yet. Shippō sank into the seat opposite, a bowl of white rice and a cup of tea as well as a plate of what smelled like pickles before him. Seeing the young boy fidget, the older gestured lightly with a pair of chopsticks. “Eat up, eat up!”  
  
When they were finished eating and the dishes had been cleared away, Shippō turned towards him once more.  
  
“So,” he began in an overly-casual tone, one emerald eye winking slyly. “What would you like to do today, Harry Potter?”

 

\---

Vernon Dursley was impressed, even if he hated to admit it. The man was obviously very wealthy, if the servants and tastefully expensive decor were anything to go by. He’d been driven to a wealthy neighborhood and shown up to a penthouse suite by a tight-lipped chauffeur. The door to the suite had been manned by a stiff butler who took his hat with a deferential bow. A maid, standing nearby, stepped forward and gave a faint curtsey. Turning, she gestured silently for him to follow before setting off down the hallway.  
  
They stopped before a door that looked no different from the others. As soon as the maid had opened it however, Vernon was faced with a richly appointed study. The central feature was a gleaming desk of dark wood, behind which was seated the person he was here to meet. The man didn’t deign to rise from his chair when his guest entered so Vernon took a moment to get a good look at his host. The man’s suit was charcoal grey and impeccably tailored on his slender frame. Neatly trimmed black hair crowned a pale face with aristocratic cheekbones, almost feminine lips, and pale brown eyes.  
  
The maid who had led him here gestured for Vernon to sit. When he had, she slipped away and the butler stepped in to set a cup of steaming tea on the small table beside him. When he had similarly served his master he too withdrew, shutting the door behind him. Each man watched the other appraisingly as they sipped their tea. After a moment longer, the man behind the desk spoke.  
  
“I understand you are a business man, Mr. Dursley,” he murmured in a smooth, deep voice. “I have a proposal for you.”  
  
Vernon was definitely interested in getting into whatever business would reap these sorts of rewards. He held his eagerness in check as best he could. “What kind of proposal, Mr. White?”  
  
Those eyes seemed to flash gold in the afternoon light as the man leaned forward slightly, folding his hands on the desk as his lips curled upwards in a not-entirely-friendly smile. “It is in regards to your nephew.”  
  
Vernon set his tea cup down with a rattle of china. “That woman said she hadn’t found him!”  
  
“She didn’t,” the pale man cut in smoothly. “Helen only informed me that you were looking for him.”  
  
Vernon could feel his face begin to flush, but he tamped it down. It wouldn’t do to make a bad impression now. Forcing himself to pick up his tea again, he tried for calm. “Have you seen him, then? My wife and I are quite worried about the boy.”  
  
His host hummed noncommittally and Vernon forged ahead. “He’s quite a troublemaker, so if he’s done anything...”  
  
Once again, Mr. White cut him off. “I am well equipped to deal with any kind of disturbances, Mr. Dursley. What I am offering is to take him off your hands. You would be given generous compensation, of course,” he added when Vernon opened his mouth to object.

 

\---

Dursley busied himself with his teacup for a moment, and Sesshōmaru waited patiently for the fat man to crack. He’d seen the appreciative looks at his surroundings, could practically smell the man’s greed, and was prepared for the demands of money and power and _things_.  
  
Sure enough, he waited no more than a minute before Dursley, attempting to appear as nonchalant as possible, spoke. "What kind of compensation are you offering, Mr. White? He is, after all, a very dear nephew to my wife."  
  
"I don't doubt it," Sesshōmaru returned dryly.  
  
Before his guest could take offense, he continued. "I am aware of the boy's... eccentricities and your desire to have nothing to do with them. In light of that, I am willing to completely remove him from your family. I will provide you with a letter for you to show to whomever decides to ask on his whereabouts. It will explain the situation and that they may contact me if they have any further questions on the matter.”  
  
Sesshōmaru paused to take a sip of his cooling tea. "As for your _monetary_ concerns, I am willing to offer your son the same amount for his schooling that I estimate will be necessary to educate your nephew. You would also be reimbursed for your care of him to this point, with the addition of interest."  
  
He gave the man a flat stare over his folded hands, looking every inch the ruthless businessman. "This is, of course, the only offer I will make you. If you do not take it, the boy will simply disappear and you will be forced to explain his absence to several sets of authorities, none of whom will be lenient on the issue of murder."  
  
"M-m-murder!" Vernon stuttered, jumping up and towering over the desk. "How dare you accuse me of such!"  
  
Sesshōmaru regarded him coolly. "I have done no such thing, but if there is no body and still ample evidence, what else are the courts to assume, Mr. Dursley? There was more than one witness to yesterday's... incident with the London busses.”  
  
When his guest appeared to be capable of nothing more than slowly turning purple, Sesshōmaru slid a piece of paper across his desk to the man and set a pen beside it. “This contract contains everything we discussed. I suggest you sign it.”  
  
“This... this is blackmail!”  
  
“Yes,” the disguised yōkai lord agreed, “but it is likely to be the most profitable blackmail you ever encounter. I am prepared to be generous only this once.”

 

\---

Harry was extremely confused. Despite the tall man’s - he was allowed to call him Sesshōmaru, according to Shippō, but didn’t dare until the man told him himself - directive to not leave the apartment, Shippō had insisted on taking him shopping. Harry tugged him to a stop before they could reach the door and quietly insisted he didn’t have the money to pay for anything and that he didn’t want to inconvenience the tall man who’d taken him in. It took a moment of stuttering and stumbling to get it out, but Shippō smiled gently and knelt before him.  
  
“Harry, if I know Shō - and I do, better than almost anyone alive - he will not allow you to return to your relatives. It’s one of the reasons he called me here.”  
  
His surprise was overrun by a staggering relief and Harry looked up at the older man with undisguised hope. “What do you mean?”  
  
“Sesshōmaru has decided to make you his ward. If you agree, of course.”  
  
When Harry looked vaguely confused, Shippō elaborated further. “It’s a little like being adopted, except you’ll still be a Potter instead of becoming Sesshōmaru’s son. He’ll take care of you though, until you can do so yourself. He’ll no doubt explain it tonight along with a few other things, alright? If you don’t want to become his ward, I’m sure we can work out a backup plan or two for you.”  
  
Harry thought about it seriously for some time before nodding resolutely. Shippō’s smile widened at the determined expression on his face and held out his hand. Harry took it with the barest hesitation and they slipped out the door and onto the busy streets.

 

\---

When Sesshōmaru returned that evening, he was pleased to see that Shippō had purchased more appropriate clothing for the boy. Instead of the oversized rags he had been wearing, Harry looked comfortable in trousers that didn’t have to be rolled up and belted and a shirt whose sleeves didn’t pass his wrists. Leaving Shippō and the boy reading together on cushions in the small library, Sesshōmaru retreated to his study to prepare paperwork and mull over just how much Harry should be told.  
  
It wasn’t long before Harry appeared in the doorway, fingers twisting in the hem of his new shirt. It was a habit to break him of, the lord noted idly. Leaning back from his work, he waved Harry to the seat opposite. Shippō was rattling around in the kitchen making dinner, so they had a short while to answer any questions Harry was too shy to ask in front of the kitsune. Sesshōmaru waited patiently. Harry inspected the wood of the desk.  
  
“Shippō says I should call you, um, S-sesshōmaru? Sir?”  
  
Not the first question he was expecting, but a necessary clarification all the same given how the other adults in the boy’s life seemed to have treated him. He waited for emerald eyes to peer up through the black fringe before agreeing. “Your culture does not recognise many of my titles, and I will not have a ward of mine scared to call me by name. Yes,” he elaborated when Harry still looked confused, “You should call me Sesshōmaru.”  
  
A line of tension dropped from small shoulders and the boy turned his face up to meet the lord’s fully. Sesshōmaru let him look; he was never disguised in his own home. He knew the moment when Harry finally saw what he had missed before.  
  
“You’re... Are you an elf?”  
  
“No,” the lord sighed, pulling a scroll from the small pile at his side.  
  
Unfurling it between them, he directed the boy’s gaze to an elegant ink painting nestled amoungst the script. There, rendered in deft strokes of black, was an image of how he had looked centuries ago. Fully armoured, with Bakusaiga ready in one hand, his dokkasu in the other, and mokomoko draped over his shoulder, feudal Sesshōmaru was a sight to behold. Unrolling it yet further, he gestured to the next illustration. Snarling, towering over the forest below him, the two dimensional rendering of his battle form seemed to fill the space it was given and press against the words surrounding it.  
  
“Both of these are me,” Sesshōmaru spoke softly, dragging a claw reverently over the back of the large dog. “As I was nearly five hundred years ago. I am not an elf, Harry Potter, I am inuyōkai.”

 

\---

“What’s that?” Shippō heard Harry ask as he approached the study to collect them for dinner.  
  
There was silence for a moment, aside from the sound of parchment rolling. Then, Sesshōmaru’s deep voice. “‘Dog spirit’ is probably the closest your language allows. Some would say ‘demon,’ but Western connotations would then imply that all yōkai are evil. That is false.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
The boy seemed to be confused still, but unsure how to voice it. Shippō took that moment to step into the doorway. Green eyes glanced between them for a moment before Harry asked the logical follow-up. “Is Shippō a dog spirit too?”  
  
Gold eyes slanted his way in amusement as the kitsune knelt beside the boy. A small burst of yōki brought forth his tails and he smiled at Harry’s wide eyes. “Sorry. I’m no dog. I’m a fox!”  
  
Shyness was forgotten in the face of the display and Harry babbled questions while he fisted his hands in his pant legs to keep them out of the soft fur. “Can you turn into a real fox? How big? Sesshōmaru showed me a picture of a really big dog that he says is him. Can I learn to turn into an animal? Please? ”  
  
Shippō laughed concealed his tails again in another burst of magic. “How about dinner first, hm? You still have to decide whether or not you’re going to stay with Shō.”  
  
Harry looked about to agree with anything that would allow him to stay and be taught transformations, but the lord held up his pale hand. “Do not give your word lightly, and do not enter agreements when you have yet to hear all of the conditions. We will talk more after you eat.”  
  
The boy almost protested, but Shippō took his hand and drew him from the study. Harry looked back once, but Sesshōmaru had already resumed his work.


	3. Contracts and Arrangements

When dinner had been consumed and Harry appeased with the knowledge that Sesshōmaru would eat later and wasn’t refusing to join them because he was upset, Shippō led them back to the study. The desk had been cleared of most papers and scrolls, only the few that would need to be signed to confer custody of the child remained. Harry wiggled onto the cushion he had left behind and Shippō set a small pot of weak tea and a plate of sweet buns in front of him before retrieving a ceramic carafe and two saucers from a cabinet in the corner of the study. When everyone had taken a sip of their respective nightcaps, Sesshōmaru focussed on the small boy across the desk. Harry looked up, somewhat confused, when he felt the pressure of that golden gaze.  
  
“If you were to agree to become my ward, Harry Potter,” the lord began in a soothing rumble, “there would be no others who could lay claim to you until I release you. This is not the way of human dealings, but those ways are not enough to protect you if you choose to stay.”  
  
Harry’s green eyes were wide at that and he darted a quick glance to Shippō, who gave him a small smile behind his drink. Sesshōmaru’s fingers twitched minutely and his voice was perhaps a bit colder than before.  
  
“I have many enemies who have attempted to use my wards against me before. The protection you require is not from this Sesshōmaru.”  
  
The young boy relaxed slightly and nodded, nibbling on one of the treats the kitsune had given him. The inuyōkai continued, the soothing quality returning to his tone.  
  
“As your lord, I would also be responsible for your training.”  
  
“Training?” Harry piped up, darting another glance at Shippō.  
  
“Your education,” the kitsune clarified. “Since Shō tends to move around, you wouldn’t be going to regular school like you would have started soon. He’ll probably also teach you a bit of martial arts and perhaps some magic.”  
  
“Like turning into a big dog?” Harry swung his wide-eyed gaze from Shippō to Sesshōmaru and back. “Or a fox?”  
  
“Perhaps,” the inuyōkai conceded. “I have heard tell of some human magicians able to perform the feat. That would not be until later, however. Becoming a ward of the House of the West is not something to be taken lightly, but I extend the invitation nonetheless,” he concluded solemnly.  
  
To his credit, the young Potter actually thought about it for more than a few seconds before taking a deep breath and asking, “So you’ll protect me and teach me until I’m old enough to do it myself?”  
  
Sesshōmaru nodded silently.  
  
“I’d get to live with you and Shippō and we’d travel all over? Even to, like, China? Or Wales?”  
  
Another nod, accompanied by eyebrows raised faintly in amusement. Harry’s mouth turned down in a scowl as he thought hard. When he looked up, his green eyes were solemn. “What would I have to do in return?”  
  
Silence reigned in the study for a moment before Sesshōmaru set his saucer down and clicked his nails across the hardwood of his desk. Meeting Harry’s gaze with serious golden eyes, his voice was deep with promise. “I would require you to be diligent in your studies without due complaint. You would need to eat well and dress and act in a manner that would not reflect poorly on myself or the House of the West. And,” his nails clicked once more across the desk, “I require that you inform me of any danger to yourself and your well being. No ward of mine lacks for anything.”  
  
Harry stared up at the lord with undisguised admiration and smiled, nodding decisively. Shippō matched his little grin as Sesshōmaru dipped his head once more and slid a single document across the desk. A pen was produced from seemingly nowhere and a clawed finger wordlessly pointed to where Harry’s signature was needed. Small fingers twisting in his hem, the boy looked helplessly at the desk before darting his gaze up through thick lashes. “I don’t know how to write,” he admitted in a small voice.  
  
Nodding as though it was expected, Sesshōmaru replaced the pen with a small tray of ink in two deft movements. “Your fingers will suffice for now. A new contract can be signed later, if doubt arises.”  
  
When Harry’s thumbprints were carefully placed and secured with a small trace of his own wishful magic, Shippō reached over and pressed a small block of inked stone to the page, signing as witness. A wash of binding magic rippled out faintly before contracting, and the kitsune clapped his hands and grinned at the boy beside him.  
  
“Now that that’s done, I think it’s time for all good little wards to get ready for bed!”  
  
The boy groaned theatrically but it had been a rather full day, and not in the way he was used to. Shippō chuckled and herded him gently from the study and down the hall once more. 

\--- 

With a heavy sigh, Shippō dropped onto the cushion across from his boss and friend. Sesshōmaru’s only response was to pour him another saucer of saké and take a measured sip of his own. Harry had just fallen asleep, but neither yōkai required rest anytime soon.  
  
“I see what you mean by skittish,” the kitsune murmured. “One sharp word and the kid might bolt.”  
  
Sesshōmaru hummed in agreement. “I had thought to return to Japan soon, but Inuyasha is not known for his tact.”  
  
Shippō laughed, well aware of his hanyō friend’s flaws. “Might be better to stick to somewhere Harry can understand the language too, at least at first.”  
  
Another wordless acknowledgement as the lord drained his drink. “There is the matter of the child’s own holdings as well,” he sighed soundlessly. “They will have to be accounted for and any wealth put into trust before we leave. Additionally, his parents were well known and his own fame is bound to have attracted vultures.”  
  
“Time to call in the terrible trio?” Shippō asked with a smile as he split the last of the bottle between them.  
  
Sesshōmaru merely titled his lips slyly. “Perhaps it is unfortunate that I do not have any wolves currently in my employ. You will indeed have to settle for my three wise men.”  
  
The kitsune raised his dish in one last toast. “May they strike fear into the hearts of vultures everywhere, and leave poor foxes alone.”  
  
A rumbling laugh and the soft clink of porcelain on porcelain was his only answer.

 --- 

Two days later over breakfast, Harry was informed that they would again be spending the day shopping. He wrinkled his nose; hadn’t they picked up everything he could possibly need already?  
  
“Not like Monday!” Shippō laughed into his tea. “We have to visit a different place entirely. It’ll be _magical!_ ”  
  
If the black-haired boy had known a bit more about himself, the emphasis on the last word would have given him a clue to their destination. As it was, he only blinked twice before returning Shippō’s bright smile. Setting his dirty dishes neatly on the counter to be washed later, he darted off to get changed.  
  
Sesshōmaru met them at the back door of the shop, speaking softly with two men and two women, one of whom was the one to hand the lord Vernon’s card that first day. Harry slipped behind his kitsune escort, ducking his head shyly. Shippō smiled and stepped aside, ushering him forward with a comforting hand on his back. Conversation halted and five sets of eyes turned to the small human. Sesshōmaru beckoned him forward and Shippō leaned down to whisper a gentle admonition to stand up straight and not be afraid.  
  
Harry moved closer cautiously, eyes darting nervously between each unknown face. As though sensing his discomfort, the woman he recognised from the shop stepped forward with a warm smile and gave him a small bow. “Hello, young master,” her voice was soft and calming. “My apologies for not introducing myself when we first met. My name is Hanami. I work for Sesshōmaru-sama.”  
  
Green eyes watched her intently before darting up to meet his lord’s. A faint nod of confirmation from that quarter, and he found the courage to point out that “Your ears weren’t pointy before.”  
  
“Ah!” She looked back at Sesshōmaru, tucking a hand up against the side of her face in embarrassment, but he merely watched the interaction flatly.  
  
Shippō leaned forward conspiratorially, winking when Harry turned towards him. “Hanami is a kitsune also.”  
  
Glancing between them, the child compared them before wrinkling his nose. “You don’t look the same.”  
  
One of the other men, tall and thin with sharp features and grey hair, laughed. When Harry glanced up, he gestured towards the front of the shop. “You do not look like many of the humans outside either, little one, but we don’t doubt you are.”  
  
Feeling bold, bolstered by the presence of Shippō at his back and Sesshōmaru before him, Harry grumbled insolently, “Are you a fox too?”  
  
Long fingers waved negligently, unperturbed by the show of cheek. “No no, not I. Not for me are the tricks and trappings of the forest.”  
  
Bowing faintly, he released a small shiver of yōki. When he straightened, there was a wide red streak painted across the bridge of his nose. Harry noted a similar mark also spread across the man’s hands, covering each of his fingers between the first and second knuckles. Sharp orange eyes watched him shrewdly. “Heisui,” the pale yōkai introduced briefly. “Like your lord, I often keep myself disguised in public, but I am crane, not dog.”  
  
Green eyes narrowed and Harry contemplated this for only a short time before turning an expectant gaze on the two who had yet to speak. The woman stepped forward first, her matronly appearance comforting on a level he didn’t quite know how to explain. Not bothered with the formality shown by her companions, she crouched down at eye-level, her full skirts puffing up around her.  
  
“You’ll learn, Mister Potter,” she smiled, wrinkles creasing the corners of her dark eyes behind her tortoiseshell glasses, “that there are yōkai for nearly every species, and the word we use for ‘spirit’ depends on where we come from. Some of us aren’t even tied to an animal nature, though they’re far rarer than those who are.”  
  
He looked dubious, but another brief nod from Sesshōmaru convinced him of the woman’s words. She smiled deeper, holding out a lightly tanned hand for Harry to shake. “You’ll call me Oria, hm?” she smiled, patting his captured appendage lightly with her free hand.  
  
The last man stepped forward as Harry indicated he would do as she asked, a hand the colour of milky coffee out to assist his associate. When Oria was standing, he turned back to the boy and bowed with an open palm resting over his heart. As with Heisui, a small wash of yōki covered him as he rose. “You may call me Rahul, Mister Potter,” he murmured with a faint accent.  
  
Harry had to look hard for what had changed, apart from newly pointed ears tucked under neatly cropped black hair. After a moment of searching, he spied the thin vertical lines - only a shade paler than the man’s skin and thus that much harder to spot - that traced from the outer corners of Rahul’s piercing black eyes down to his chin. He reminded himself to ask his guardians later if all the different markings meant something. Shippō didn’t seem to have _any_ , after all, and Sesshōmaru had more than all the others combined. Sneaking a glance at both, Harry tucked his hands behind his back to conceal his nervousness. Grasping at his clothing was no longer allowed, according to Sesshōmaru, as it wrinkled and tugged them out of place and such messiness was unbecoming of them both. “Pleased to meet you all,” he replied at last, trying to emulate the stoic lord’s usual tone.  
  
Though only Oria’s expression changed outwardly, Harry had a feeling they were all amused by his attempt. Sesshōmaru raised his chin a fraction before turning towards the back door, barely sparing a glance for his entourage. Yōki rippled again as disguises were replaced and Harry stepped back as he saw the dramatic change overcome the inu. Shippō’s hand came down on his shoulder, gently keeping him in place, as Harry finally got a good look at his lord’s public face. Pale brown eyes slanted towards him and he was guided forward until he stood two paces behind and to the right of Sesshōmaru.  
  
“This is your place,” Shippō told him softly, giving his shoulder a last comforting pat before retreating. “Don’t let anyone take it from you.”  
  
With that, Hanami opened the door and the small group stepped out into the streets of London as one.

 --- 

When they emerged from the two sleek black cars that had carried them several streets over - too far to walk, certainly, but not a long drive at all - Harry was almost overwhelmed by the swirling mid-morning crowds of downtown London. The solid presence of both of the yōkai he was most familiar with bracketed him however, and sure steps led the entourage to a dingy pub that had muscled its way into existence between two other shops. He tried to keep his wide-eyed reactions limited, focussing instead on staying just the right distance behind Sesshōmaru.  
  
The pub’s interior wasn’t much to see and they swept through without stopping to greet the bartender or any of the patrons. When they reached what seemed to be a dead-end courtyard, Harry glanced up at the lord in faintly nervous confusion. Had they decided he wasn’t worth keeping after all? _No._ He shoved the thought down and straightened his back again. They had signed the contract, and if there was anything he had learned from the stories Shippō told him before bed sometimes, it was that Sesshōmaru protected what was his and did not go back on his word.  
  
Hanami moved forward, ducking her head to the disguised inuyōkai before turning to the wall blocking their path. Gently, she touched her fingers to stone. Harry couldn’t control the dropping of his jaw as the bricks shivered and rearranged themselves into an archway leading towards the most fantastical street he’d seen yet. The group moved forwards once more and, as they passed into the street, yōki shimmered briefly into cloaks that draped themselves over suits and dresses. The ripple in the air that Harry could feel whenever the familiar-unfamiliar magic was used shifted closer, curled around him, and then suddenly he was draped in soft, dark fabric. He gathered some of it briefly in a fist, startled at its appearance, but the hum that ran through him corresponded with the glint of pale brown checking his progress. _Sessh_ ō _maru’s power._ He relaxed, knowing it was protection and comfort in one, and followed his lord deeper into Diagon Alley.

\---

Sesshōmaru was pleased to see his ward so easily accept the casual drape of mokomoko, disguised as it was, across his shoulders. He’d caught the boy’s nervous tension before Hanami had opened the way, but Harry had forced it down on his own. Still, he’d felt his instincts buck, and soothed them by offering the child protection in more ways than one. Harry would not look out of place with his neat trousers and plain shirt so long as everyone else saw the robe thrown over the top. Anything that could sense his true nature or relied on scent for identification would find the declaration of _mine_ to be clear. It was particularly useful when they swept down the Alley and into Gringotts. The magic of goblins was no less odd to him than that of humans, but the goblins themselves were much better at understanding the subtleties of non-humans than so-called witches and wizards were.  
  
A pair of guards stepped forward as they neared the teller counters, gesturing with their spears for the entourage to follow. Sesshōmaru inclined his head briefly, allowing the goblins to guide them down a hallway to the office he visited on the rare occasions he dealt with the bank. Hanami ducked forwards to open the door as she had the archway, subtly scanning the room for threats - not that it was necessary here in the heart of London - and announcing his presence to the goblin seated behind the desk. Bloodedge nodded and stood, waving away the guards as they entered. “Lord Sesshōmaru, it has been many years since you have graced us with your presence.”  
  
“I have come to settle some accounts regarding my new ward.” He raised his eyebrow slightly and gestured the child forward. “I believe you know Harry Potter.”  
  
“Ah, yes!” The old goblin came around his desk, peering closer but keeping his distance, the presence of mokomoko warning him off. “We were told it would be several years yet before he would be escorted through our doors, however.”  
  
Sesshōmaru’s voice was cold. “Told by whom?”  
  
Bloodedge retreated to his desk, rifling through papers and appearing unconcerned with the implied threat in those words. “Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of the wizard school up north. He informed us that the Potter wills were to be sealed until the child reached majority. Naturally we did no such thing, as that man had no control over any of the relevant accounts and was not named executor. Unfortunately, by the time we had gone through them, the child was nowhere to be found.”  
  
The inuyōkai gestured minutely and Heisui moved forward, presenting the scroll that had been signed earlier that week. Pinning the banker with an icy stare, Sesshōmaru rumbled dangerously. “Execute the wills. Any monetary wealth is to be transferred to a trust vault under my guardianship. Heirlooms are to be placed in a separate vault with access restricted to myself and my ward. Any property will be managed by this Sesshōmaru through the use of intermediaries.”  
  
“Very well,” Bloodedge muttered after a moment studying the document he’d been given. “Is there anything else Gringotts can do for you or young Potter?”  
  
“Yes,” Rahul spoke up, his softly accented voice carrying a hint of steel. “My associates and I would also like to discuss correcting a few breaches of intellectual property law regarding Mister Potter.”  
  
Harry looked up at Shippō in confusion, but a shushing motion from the kitsune convinced him to hold his questions until later. The goblin’s gaze sharpened at the thought of legal issues with such a large account-holder and bared his teeth in something that could be considered either a smile or a grimace. “What sort of breaches?”  
  
“Those involving the unauthorised use of our client’s name, of course,” Heisui replied smoothly. “His celebrity status regarding _the incident_ four years ago and the lack of negative enforcement has allowed many to profit with the use of either his or his parents names.”  
  
Bloodedge’s expression curled much closer to shark-like amusement. “I see. This is something we have been unable to curb without approval of young Potter or his guardian. Now that that is secured, Gringotts would be pleased to offer... enforcement services for any deal we make regarding the use of the names and likenesses of such valued customers.”  
  
A brief stare-down ensued before Sesshōmaru inclined his head slightly and turned towards the door, confident that his orders would be carried out efficiently and to greatest profit for all involved. Collecting Hanami, Shippō, and Harry in a glance, he swept out of the bank and back into the Alley. Some ice cream wouldn’t go amiss to reward the boy for staying his curiosity.


	4. The Order's Discovery

It wasn’t until the middle of the next week that anyone in the magical community raised the alarm that Harry Potter no longer lived at  Number 4 Privet Drive. The Dursley’s neighbors had been placated with the introduction of a rumor that one of the boy’s father’s relatives had stepped forward to claim him. It was implied that the tall, impeccably British man was strict and much more financially able to care for the troublesome child, despite his lack of wife. A less substantiated story circulated that, in apology for leaving the poor Dursleys with Harry for so long without support, the man had set up a trust for young Dudley to help pay the lad’s way through school, provided he kept his grades up and stayed out of trouble.

Still, Arabella Figg was generally out of the loop on the Little Whinging rumor mill so, by the time she got around to asking where the lad had got off to, Harry had been in London for almost ten days. As fast as she could manage without attracting undue attention, she hurried home and locked the doors. Shuffling into her bedroom, the squib tugged the curtains closed after a nervous look around and fished a small hand mirror out from the bottom drawer of her dresser. Sinking into her rocking chair, she let out a shaky breath and murmured, “Alastor.”

The mirror fogged and cleared again, showing not a reflection of her pale face but that of a dark and dirty corner with peeling paint and stained floorboards. A rough male voice muttered from somewhere behind it. “Who’s that then?”

“It’s Arabella,” she replied, voice high and tight. “Alastor, one of my kittens has run away. The little black one with such pretty eyes.” The emergency code felt heavy on her lips, “Will you please help me find it?”

There was a shuffling from the other side, then a gruff, “I’ll be right there,” and the connection cut.

\---

Alastor Moody appeared soundlessly in the shielded apparation point on the edge of the neighborhood park. He stepped swiftly to the side, as much in case someone else wished to come through as precaution against a potential attack. Assuring himself that no such thing was incoming, he straightened the cuffs of his suit coat so as to not interfere with his wand holster and conjured an understatedly elegant cane. Contrary to popular wizarding belief, the grizzled and over-paranoid Auror - nicknamed Mad-Eye for the heavily charmed glass orb that replaced one he’d lost in a duel when he was much younger - was much better at blending in with Muggles than most of his colleagues gave him credit for. Giving a last check to the patch that currently concealed his magical eye and that the glamour over his peg leg was secure, Alastor set off down Magnolia Road towards Mrs. Figg’s tidy little house.

To his quiet approval, Arabella didn’t let him in until she’d confirmed his identity through a combination of the property wards Albus had set up, a foe glass, some discreet sniffs from her kneazle cross-breeds, and several coded questions through the door. To the gossip-mongers of Little Whinging, it appeared that the batty spinster in their midst was suddenly much more interesting than they’d previously thought. The housewives were divided over whether she simply had a smart-looking relative paying an unexpected visit or if she’d acquired a gentleman caller, but in the end it wouldn’t matter. Paranoid as he was, there was no way any of the muggle residents of the cookie-cutter subdivision were able to spy on them once the door closed behind him.

She set them up with tea in her little study at the back of the house. There were no windows in the tiny room that was probably originally meant to be for storage or laundry, but that only meant it was the perfect place for meetings like this. Alastor paced off the perimeter, setting extra silencing charms and other wards while Arabella arranged the china service on the single table. When the tea was poured and Moody satisfied with the level of privacy, they settled themselves in the two high-back chairs and began to go over the rumors that Mrs. Figg had collected from the neighbors.

“I warned Albus for years,” she murmured quietly into her cup when she was done, trying not to cry. “Every time I watched the poor boy for them I tried to get as much food into him as I could. It wasn’t hard to see how skinny he was and the bruises they gave him under the ragged old clothes they made him wear, and now... Now he’s finally run away.”

“Might be a truth in those rumors, though,” he comforted roughly. “I’ll go have a chat with Petunia tomorrow after her husband’s gone to work and we can see where to go from here.”

He paused to let Arabella refill their tea before asking, “You haven’t informed Dumbledore yet, have you?”

She shook her head. “If I only had rumors to give him, he’d tell me I’m worrying too much and that poor Harry is safe and they’ve just kept him inside the last few weeks or some such rot.”

Moody nodded. “Best to have concrete facts first. The old boy can be surprisingly blind when he wants to be.”

They finished the pot in silent contemplation after that and finally Mrs. Figg slipped off to bed. Moody followed shortly, taking time to clean the china they’d used and set up a few monitoring charms and extra wards before he forced himself into sleep. The matter of young Potter’s disappearance would hold until morning, and he’d need a good night’s rest if he was going to deal with the the boy’s unpleasant aunt.

\---

Petunia Dursley was by no means a stupid woman. She knew the moment she’d heard about Mrs. Figg’s mysterious gentleman caller that _they_ had finally heard about her nephew going missing and were coming to investigate. She was up early with nerves, packing a lunch for Vernon and sending Dudley off to play with his friends as soon as he was done with his breakfast. She set the letter her husband had been given on the table in the front hallway so she could hopefully just give it to whoever showed up and shoo them away before anyone got a good look at them.

Petunia was therefore mildly surprised to open her front door when the bell rang at ten sharp to find a well-dressed gentleman waiting patiently on her stoop. She had admittedly expected someone dressed in a horrid parody of decent clothing, as had happened whenever someone had stopped by during the summers to talk to Lily or their parents. She almost thought he was normal, but then he introduced himself and asked about her nephew and she was hard pressed not to grimace outright. Taking a discreet look around the neighborhood to see who was watching, she allowed him in with a fixed smile on her face and mechanically offered him tea. Best to at least look the part for that busybody across the street. When they had settled in the parlour with her third-best china and the tea she kept reserved for people she wasn’t too fond of, she huffed impatiently and shot him a glare.

“Well? What do you want?”

The man watched calmly her with his single eye - and wasn’t that just disturbing? It was probably too much to hope that he’d lost the other doing something worthwhile like regular folk -  and waited until she was about to snap at him again before he replied. “Where is Harry Potter?”

“Gone,” she declared triumphantly.

“Gone where?” he pressed, beginning to look irritated.

Good. _They_ deserved to be the ones inconvenienced for a change. “I don’t know and I don’t care. The ungrateful brat ran away when we were in London for Dudley’s birthday and we haven’t seen him since. Good riddance, too.”

“And the rumors about a relative of his taking him away from your _tender_ care?”

Petunia sniffed disdainfully at the accusation. Standing stiffly, she retrieved the envelope from the hall and practically threw it across the coffee table. “ _That man_ told my Vernon to give this to whoever came looking for the boy.”

The gentleman eyed the thick parchment warily and tugged on a pair of gloves from his pocket before he picked it up. When he turned it over to inspect the wax seal on the back, she practically hissed. “Don’t open it here! Just take it and go. We don’t want anything to do with your kind and the sooner you’re gone with it the sooner we can forget what a pain these last four years have been.”

He raised an eyebrow and stared her down for a moment, but gathered his cane and let her show him out with another false smile on her face. She forced herself not to slam the door after him, watching through the peephole until he turned off their front path and disappeared from her sight. Once she’d cleaned up their untouched tea - ungrateful lot, all of them - she allowed herself to collapse in the chair in Vernon’s study with a tumbler of his brandy and a genuine smile. Finally, her family was free to have the normal life they craved.

\---

Only partially due to Mrs. Dursley’s asking and the rest attributed to his famous paranoia, Alastor declined to open the letter until he was safely back within his own home. He ran it through as many spell and poison detectors as he could think of before gently easing the wax seal from its place and slipping the heavy parchment out of the envelope. The handwriting was broad-stroked but elegant, and the whole thing was lightly perfumed with a sickly sweet smell he couldn’t quite identify.

_Albus Dumbledore,_

_I commend you on retrieving this missive from the Dursleys. Perhaps you are not as hopeless as I had been led to believe. However, Harry Potter is no longer any of your concern. The young boy you left to fend for himself has done just that. He is now a ward of the House of the West and will be provided for as an honoured child under the protection of the Inu no Taishō._

_If you still find the need to contact him before he is scheduled to begin at your school, a letter can be sent to the offices of Savace, Otomi, and Parinata at the address provided below. Any attempts to contact the House of the West outside of official channels will be ignored._

_Inu no Taishō_  
 _The Crescent Moon_  
 _Lord of the House of the West_

Below this was a seal consisting of a hexagon of red ink with the image of a stylised five-petal flower removed from its center. At the very bottom of the page was an address for a building in one of the Muggle sections of Palermo, Italy. A quick consultation of an enchanted map revealed it to be fairly close to the southern entrance of the Viale del Mago, but the chances of Harry having been taken by a wizarding family were greatly reduced.

Meticulously, he duplicated the entire document by hand and filed his copy away. When he was done, Moody sighed heavily and refolded the letter. Gently heating the back of the wax on the envelope with his wand, the old Auror re-sealed the parchment inside before putting it in his pocket. Albus may be the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, but this information was invaluable. If the Headmaster refused to follow up on Potter’s whereabouts or was rebuffed in the attempt, then he wouldn’t be the only one with the means to try.

Changing his clothing back into the robes he was more commonly seen in and removing the glamours on his eye and leg, Alastor made his way outside his wards and apparated to the edge of Hogsmeade. Ignoring any curious bystanders, he ducked around the edge of town and began the long trek up the path towards the gates of Hogwarts.

\---

Albus Dumbledore had been having a relatively standard Thursday afternoon before the house elf popped into his office to notify him of Moody’s arrival. Sighing, he set aside his end-of-the-year paperwork and thanked the little elf. “Show him in, would you Liddy? Please bring up some tea for us as well.”

The elf nodded and popped away, and soon Albus heard the distinctive thud-step of Alastor’s peg leg on the stairs. Waving the door open with his wand, he nodded to the ex-Auror and offered him a seat. Moody waited until Liddy had delivered the tea and left again before pulling out his wand and casting several silencing and misdirection charms to deafen the portraits and prevent them from lip-reading. When he was finished, he conjured his own plush wingback and sank heavily into it.

The Headmaster watched in mild concern, but let him finish before he questioned it. “What’s this about, Alastor?”

His friend sighed uncharacteristically and tossed a sealed envelope onto the desk. “We have a problem, Albus.”

Dumbledore glanced down to see his name written in neat script on the front of the heavy parchment. Moody waved his hand dismissively between them as he explained. “I’ve already run that thing through as many checks as I can and it comes up clean except for that smell.”

“What’s the problem?” the older man asked as he flipped the envelope over to inspect the seal.

Moody leaned forward, agitation clear. “The problem is that Harry Potter is missing from Privet Drive and, beyond the fact that those Muggles lost him somewhere in London, that,” he gestured to the letter impatiently, “is the only lead we have.”

Blue eyes widening in alarm, Albus barely took note of the hexagon and flower pressed into the wax before he broke it open and extracted the single page within. Reading it twice over, he passed the missive to his guest and hastily opened a drawer in his desk. Withdrawing a small wooden box, he barely noticed Alastor watching him in favour of the letter as he opened the lid with a growing sense of dread. There, nestled in soft silk, was a silver-wrought canary lying ominously still. Replacing the box in his desk, the aged wizard closed his eyes and sighed.

“I’ll put the word out, then. We’ll need a full meeting of the Order as soon as possible. Hopefully tonight. Anything we can find about this Lord and that office will be invaluable.”

“Where are we meeting?” Moody growled back. “Can’t be sure Grimmauld is secure, what with Black in Azkaban.”

Albus nodded. “Minerva’s private chambers are both free of portraits and connected to the Floo. Perhaps the Weasleys would allow us to funnel people through the Burrow. I’ll call Molly once Minerva’s given her opinion. Liddy!”

The elf popped in beside his desk again and Dumbledore turned to her with a calm smile. “Please ask Professor McGonagall to come to my office, it’s quite important.”

Liddy nodded and disappeared again, leaving the two friends to sit in silence until the summoned Transfiguration professor swept in not five minutes later with a concerned look on her face.

\---

Minerva McGonagall had been mildly exasperated when the Headmaster’s elf popped in less than two weeks after the end of school staff meetings were finally over with. Really, she had plenty of her own paperwork to deal with and had been looking forward to a quiet evening with the latest journals and an excellent bottle of scotch she’d been given by her eldest nephew. When Liddy had said the meeting was important, the Scotswoman had scoffed a little in her head. Albus’ ideas of important didn’t always match up to the rest of the world’s, but she had set aside her work and prepared to meet with him. An idea struck her and, before Liddy could disappear again, Minerva had asked if there was anyone else in the office. If this was another petty complaint of Severus’... well, he’d feel her claws for interrupting a perfectly peaceful afternoon.

The house elf’s reply of “Master Auror Maddy-Eyes” however, confused and worried her. She span out theories in her head, each wilder than the last, as she swept through hallways and hidden passages towards her superior’s office. The gargoyle sprang before she could give the password and she darted up the spiral staircase as quick as her dignity allowed. Stepping into the office, she found her questions stalled when Albus waved her towards one of the plush chairs and poured her a cup of tea. As soon as she was seated, Moody passed her a letter.

“Albus..!” she exclaimed when she’d read it through several times to ensure she wasn’t simply imagining its contents.

The old wizard nodded solemnly. “Alastor interviewed the Dursleys just this morning. Would you allow us to use your quarters for an Order meeting tonight? We need to determine what’s to be done as soon as we can, and Hogwarts is the safest place available on short notice.”

“Of course!” she agreed, passing the letter back to him and standing. “I’ll gather Severus and clean the place up a bit before everyone gets in. I assume you wish to use my fireplace?”

“It would be for the best,” Dumbledore sighed, rising as well. “I believe Alastor would like to accompany you as well, to ensure security.”

Nodding curtly, Minerva swept from the office briskly, confident that the retired Auror would follow at his own pace.

\---

The meeting was all but a disaster, Sturgis grumbled as he waited in Minerva’s parlour for the Floo to be free. Snape had taken the threat seriously, surprisingly enough, despite his usual rants on Potter and how the child was likely being spoiled rotten. However, he had subsequently ignored any attempts to figure out what had set him so on edge. His old schoolmate had swept right back out of the office, a copy of the letter crumpled in his hand, almost as soon as it’d been given to him. Sturgis had shared a commiserating glance with Remus but as the evening wore on he wasn’t sure that Severus hadn’t had the right idea escaping while he could.

The remaining Order members had talked long into the night, raiding not only the school library, but also Albus and Minerva’s private ones for any mention of the mysterious Lord or his seal and titles. The closest they’d come was a brief aside in an obscure self-transfiguration text Professor McGonagall had found years before in a used bookshop somewhere in Hong Kong.

 _“The most skilled practitioners,”_ it had said once they’d translated it from the original Chinese, _“are contracted exclusively to the Dragon and Phoenix Thrones, though several have allied themselves to the Chrysanthemum line in recent times. Most notable of these is the House of the Crescent Moon, when they merged with the House of the West for political reasons at the end of the Han Dynasty.”_

“Old money,” Elphias had muttered, packing his pipe with a little more force than necessary. “Older than most anything you’ll find in England, to be sure.”

“They’ll be covered by the pureblood laws too,” Arthur sighed. “And there’s not much you can do to get around a declaration of protection under those.”

“With good reason!” Emmeline exclaimed. “But they must have secured young Harry’s approval somehow, or the contract wouldn’t have taken.”

“And that,” Albus finished, “is what we must determine. Anything we can gain from the goblins or the Ministry about this agreement will be invaluable. If the boy was coerced, which surely he must have been to leave the protection of his relatives, we should be able to break this alliance and return him to safety.”

There had been a few skeptical looks around the table at that, but overall they were agreed. As the Headmaster bent to open the Floo’s outgoing connection to the Hog’s Head once Arthur had gone through so as not to wake his young children (and further upset Molly, who’d had to stay home to watch them), Sturgis saw a significant glance pass between Remus and Minerva. Moody’s behavior as he stood to leave - clapping the werewolf on the shoulder - was suspicious as well. He could have sworn the ex-Auror had slipped a note to the younger Gryffindor on the way by. Rubbing his tired eyes, the blond put it out of his mind. Even in a group such as theirs, subplots were de rigueur and nothing to be worried about. Finally his turn was up and Sturgis slipped into the Floo network, grateful that he’d be able to salvage at least a few hours of sleep before he was needed at work the next morning.


	5. Dirt and Blood

While the Order of the Phoenix was debating what there was to be done about their missing saviour, the boy in question was learning how to write. He sat beside Sesshōmaru in the study, watching eagerly as the inuyōkai demonstrated each letter of the English alphabet. Shakily, he copied each down in as neat of printing as he could manage and beamed as Sesshōmaru acknowledged each successful attempt. He was determined to learn this as quickly as possible so that he could move on to the complicated symbols of his guardians’ native language. Shippō had already begun to teach him to speak it and had hinted that as soon as he was somewhat proficient, they would be able to visit the castle Sesshōmaru had grown up in.

That morning he’d been up early, bouncing out of bed and hastily trading out his pyjamas for a pair of tracksuit bottoms and one of the short-sleeved shirts that Shippō had told him to set aside from his regular clothes. Walking down the hallway towards the kitchen (because running, especially within your own home, was unbecoming) he’d come up on the kitsune just as he began to make breakfast. They’d barely finished eating when Sesshōmaru appeared in the doorway and led him to one of the rooms he hadn’t figured out the purpose of yet. While his stomach settled, Harry had watched wide-eyed as his lord swept through sword forms with effortless grace. When he was through with his demonstration, Sesshōmaru had called him out onto the floor and began to guide him through the stances and katas that made up the base of the formal style taught to the House of the West. They’d worked until lunchtime, when Shippō had laughingly told him he needed to clean up before he could eat. From there Harry had been ushered into the study and the writing lessons had commenced.

Now, as it was nearing dinner time, Sesshōmaru set aside their work but kept him from running off to help his kitsune friend. Settling back on his cushion, Harry peered up at the inuyōkai curiously. Gold met green seriously for a moment before one silver eyebrow raised just the tiniest amount. “We will be leaving soon. Shippō will help you pack tomorrow.”

Harry stared, wide-eyed and fidgeting with excitement he couldn’t quite contain. _One question at a time,_ he reminded himself. “Where are we going?”

“I have not been to my North American holdings in some time. We will begin in Atlanta.”

“Are Shippō and Hanami coming with?”

Sesshōmaru stayed silent and the eyebrow ticced a little higher. The black-haired boy hastily corrected himself. “Will Shippō and Hanami be coming with us to Atlanta?”

The lord hummed in approval and his expression smoothed. “Shippō will accompany us; Hanami has duties here. She has proven efficient in managing both halves of the shop alone, so there is no need to wait for an assistant to arrive. There are other retainers already within the United States.”

Harry smiled, then paused as he thought of another question. “Will you still teach me swords like this morning?”

“Each of my residences is equipped with a dojo,” Sesshōmaru acknowledged. “As well as a study,” he added dryly.

The boy blushed and grinned. Learning to write was fun, but he couldn’t wait to get past it and on to something more interesting. It was mostly his penmanship that needed work anyway, and that was something only practice would improve. Before he could come up with anything else to ask, the lord’s head tilted and his eyes drifted out of focus as his attention shifted elsewhere on the premises. He gestured minutely with elegant fingers and Harry shot out of the room to find Shippō as he’d been taught, a wash of yōki following in his wake.

\--

When Sesshōmaru found them later, they were curled together in Harry’s bed, a picture book between them as his ward read his own bedtime story to the kitsune instead of the other way around. When he noticed the inuyōkai standing in the doorway, he set the book down and would have gotten up if it weren’t for Shippō’s restraining hand.

“Is everything okay?” Harry questioned eagerly, already full of faith that nothing could harm the lord if he did not wish it to.

“It was a message from Oria. We will discuss it tomorrow. For now, rest.”

Dark hair shook as Harry nodded rapidly. Shippō laughed as he was practically pushed from the bed so the boy could pull up the covers and close his eyes as though feigning sleep would bring it faster. With a last few whispered words for the child, the kitsune followed him back down to his study for what had become a nightly ritual. Arranging himself with a lack of formality that would shock most of those who knew him, Sesshōmaru waited until they had each taken a drink before speaking.

“A greenfinch,” he rumbled softly. “Unaware of proper procedures for requesting an audience.”

Shippō nodded in understanding. “They’ll get it straightened out when he gets back.” He paused, saucer halfway to his mouth. “You _did_ let him go, right?”

The inuyōkai gave a flash of sharp teeth in answer. “There was a letter in with the father’s will, to be delivered to the child’s guardians if they were not his appointed godparents.”

“Huh. Something they were worried about, then,” the kitsune noted.

There was a miniscule shift of silver hair and an envelope appeared on the table, the wax seal broken. Shippō picked it up and slipped the letter out from within. “Where are Harry’s godparents, then?” he asked as he skimmed the short note.

There was a low rumble of discontent as Sesshōmaru refilled their drinks. “The woman and her husband were tortured but still live. The man has been imprisoned.”

Shippō bared his fangs in disgust and tossed the parchment down. “You’re not giving him back, are you?”

“No.” The lord’s nails clacked once across the table. “We may be able to use the man, however. There are indications that he did not receive a trial. His presumed knowledge of human magics would mean we would not have to find another instructor each time we relocated.”

“I suppose,” the redhead agreed reluctantly. “But what do we know about him really?”

“He is not recorded as having offspring and, though he is officially the head of his family, his current situation does not allow him to fulfill those duties,” Sesshōmaru relayed what the finch had explained through his fear of the predator. “He should be amenable to not only teaching my ward-” Shippō hid his smile at the possessive with his saké “-but to giving most of his other obligations over to more efficient management in exchange for freedom and purpose.”

“Requesting an investigation and trial will take time,” the kitsune pointed out, wrinkling his nose at the reminder of politics. “We’re not sticking around to wait, are we?”

“We leave on schedule. I will retrieve him tonight and assess his suitability at the Suite personally. If he is not open to an alliance, he will be hidden until his trial has been arranged. If he agrees, transporting one more will be little issue and any personal effects he requires can be accessed just as easily from Atlanta as here.”

Shippō’s eyebrows rose high. “How’re you going to keep the prison guards in the dark?”

Golden eyes sparked with mischief and the kitsune found himself having to bite down on his knuckles to keep from waking Harry with his laughing as Sesshōmaru outlined his plan. The inuyōkai was a ruthless tactician, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have fun when the oppourtunity presented itself.

\--

Sirius Black whined softly and tucked his cold nose further under his matted tail as another dementor swept down the hallway outside his cell. His animagus form may keep him mostly hidden from the robed guards’ senses, but it couldn’t completely protect him against their effects. Thankfully, his faint whimper was drowned out by the moans and screams of the others in the cellblock and the chill faded somewhat as the abomination floated away in search of less downtrodden prey. Sirius attempted to grab more of whatever fitful sleep would come to him.

“Well, this certainly makes things easier.”

The smooth voice startled him so badly, being unused to contact outside the harsh jeers and taunts of the wizard guards at feeding time, that he was on all fours, teeth bared and hackles raised before he even registered that the comment had come from inside his cell. Looking up without easing the line of his back, Sirius wondered if being able to see in colour would make any difference with the strangers standing beneath the tiny window. Behind the tall man with short dark hair and chips of ice for eyes was another body, a pale shadow with no features at all. _Or clothing,_ he realised, curling his lip in a passable grimace.

“This Sesshōmaru is not here to hurt you,” the man in front spoke again and this time, being able to see his face, Sirius realised he hadn’t been using English at all.

“What do you want, then?” he barked back warily, careful to keep as quiet as possible. “And how did you get in here?”

“Shift.”

The command was the only answer provided so, after a long moment in which he he cocked his head and listened for any of the signs of a dementor returning, Sirius did as he was told. Matted, stringy hair fell into a gaunt face and he pushed it back with a filthy, shaking hand. “Can’t speak dog like this,” he muttered, “so I hope you can talk normally or I won’t understand a thing you’re saying.”

“We will not be speaking much here,” the stranger - Sesshōmaru - replied in cultured tones.

If anything, his voice was smoother now, rich and deep and Sirius stuffed down a childish jealousy over his own rusty, unused vocal cords. Before he could ask what the guy meant, the other body stepped forward mechanically. Sirius cringed back automatically, curling his hands with their ragged nails into claws and prepared to fight. A harsh exhale pulled his attention back to Sesshōmaru and the featureless parody of a man stopped just out of arm’s reach.

“We are leaving. It will take your place.”

“You’re busting me out?” Sirius questioned incredulously; no one escaped from Azkaban, after all.

Sesshōmaru gave a bare inclination of his head and a small knife was held out, hilt-first. “Give it some of your blood and none will be the wiser. We will discuss other particulars elsewhere.”

He hesitated only a moment before inching around the creepy not-male to take the blade. A weapon was a weapon and a way out was a way out. He’d worry about whether he was free or not later. “What is this thing anyway?” he asked, cutting open his hand and letting blood pool in his cupped palm.

“A simulacrum.”

Sirius held out his handful of blood and a mouth split open on the flat face. The creepy thing bent forwards, grasping the prisoner’s wrist and proceeding to drink straight from his dirty hands. Sesshōmaru snapped a command in some language the wizard didn’t know when it tried to suckle more directly from the source even as the edges of the wound swiftly knit back together. The simulacrum pulled back and Sirius watched in undisguised fascination as it grew to reach the same height as him and his features began to appear on the empty body. When the last of his hair had grown out, the tallest of the three in the crowded cell pulled a wrapped bundle from his sleeve and held it out.

“Change swiftly; we must leave.”

Tugging the package open to reveal a plain but serviceable robe, the animagus hastily stripped his dirt-stained prison greys and tossed them at his double. When both Siriuses were dressed, Sesshōmaru gave another command and the simulacrum curled itself into the corner furthest from the door with an affected tremble in its limbs. The wizard barely had time to turn back towards his rescuer when a whisper of power curled around him and the world went white.

\--

Sesshōmaru released the human as soon as they landed in the guest room of the Suite, watching dispassionately as the man stumbled. Already turning away, he gestured towards a side door and spoke over his shoulder. “The facilities are through there; the wardrobe has more suitable clothing. Leave that on the floor and someone will collect it later. When you are clean and dressed, simply open this door and someone will show you to the study. We have much to discuss.”

An hour later, the maid showed a well-scrubbed and much better smelling Sirius in and retreated. The lord gestured for him to sit and he did so warily, eying the understated opulence with a guarded expression. Hard grey eyes snapped to him when he spoke, however, and the inuyōkai suppressed a smirk.

“Before we begin, are you guilty of the crimes you were imprisoned for?”

“No,” the wizard ground out, tightening his hands on the arms of his chair until his knuckles were white.

Sesshōmaru cocked his head slightly. “Very well.”

He made a notation on one of the papers scattered across his desk. Setting it aside, he back to the other man. Before he could speak again, Sirius shook his head in disbelief. “Wait, really? I just say no and you believe me?”

Hazel eyes narrowed, flashing gold in the soft light. “Were you lying?”

“No! I just... can’t believe you’d just accept it outright. No questions asked.”

“Any questions I have do not involve a crime you did not commit. When the true perpetrator is captured, I will ask them.”

The way he emphasised ‘ask’ sent shivers down Sirius’ spine. Letting out the tension in his body on a sigh, he offered, “Peter Pettigrew.”

Black eyebrows rose in mute inquiry, even as the inuyōkai made note of the name.

“It’s a long story, but he sold out our friends to the Dark Lord and got them killed. I went after him, revenge, but when I caught up with him he yelled that I had done it in front of witnesses and blew the street up. He shifted - he’s a rat animagus - after severing one of his fingers and escaped. I couldn’t help it, I laughed; I was hysterical with grief. By the time authorities had caught up to us, anyone who was still alive swore blue that I’d blown the bastard away after he’d told everyone that I killed James and Lily. 'Course, since most of them were muggles, they got Obliviated as soon as they'd said more than two words, so...” Sirius trailed off, grimacing.

The scratch of pen on parchment halted, and Sesshōmaru refocused his attention on the dejected figure slumped in one of his study chairs. Perhaps he would not have to use the unmother after all. “The circumstances surrounding your arrest and the crimes you have been charged with can be discussed later. There is one issue that must be covered tonight.”

The former prisoner made a ‘go on’ motion, looking drained but determined. Sesshōmaru folded his hands neatly, quietly amused at the coming reveal. “I have recently come into possession of something that was intended to be yours.”

Sirius’ brow furrowed. “They auctioned off the estate rather than give it to Cissy? What was so important that you’d risk pulling me out of Azkaban for it?”

“The status of your House is unchanged, Lord Black,” Sesshōmaru assured, outwardly ignoring the start the man gave at his title being used. “No, I am speaking of my ward, one Harry James Potter.”

The wizard sucked in a breath and stood, checking his first, automatic step towards the desk. Agitated, he began to pace and the lord watched him with impassive hazel eyes. “He was supposed to be safe! I was... Hagrid was just going to hold him for a moment while I went after the rat. I was coming back for him, I swear, but where did he go when I didn’t? Couldn’t,” he amended, running a hand through his hair.

“His aunt,” Sesshōmaru cut in darkly.

“Petunia? But she hates magic! Hated Lily! She wouldn’t know what to do with him if she tried. And her great bloody oaf of a husband--”

“I am aware of their faults. All you need know is that he is now under my protection. I will not allow him to come to harm.”

“Who _are_ you, even, and what do you want with my godson?” Sirius turned on him finally, face set in hard lines and posture loose, prepared to fight.

Sesshōmaru stood, his glamour falling away to leave the markings of his heritage bright against pale skin and shining hair, his eyes glowing unearthly gold. His yōki spilled out, blanketing the room with his power as he bared his fangs. “I am the Inu no Taishō. I command the House of the West and I would see my ward _live_.”

He was pleased to see the human did not cower under the weight of his presence. The man’s head bowed only slightly, turned to expose the pale line of his throat in unconscious submission even as he met the lord’s burning gaze challengingly. The stalemate stretched on until finally Sirius sighed and slumped back in his chair. Sesshōmaru waited a moment longer before recalling his yōki and sitting as well.

“You’re not a wizard,” the former prisoner stated.

“No.”

“Why did you break me out of Azkaban?”

“My ward requires instruction in human magics.”

Sirius scoffed. “Like you couldn’t find a hundred people willing to do anything for the Boy-Who-Lived. I mean, really, I’m grateful to be out of that shithole, but why do you want a convict that half the world is convinced only wants to murder him?”

Sesshōmaru’s voice was cold. “Do you?”

“No! No, of course not. Just,” he scrubbed a tired hand over his face, “why would you pick a broken man like me?”

Golden eyes stared hard at him, observing the whole of his slumped posture, malnourished frame, and faint, intermittent tremor. “You are not as broken as you believe. You also already possess an attachment to my ward and a concern for his wellbeing. That you command a skill he has expressed wish to learn is a bonus. Your secondary nature is neither offensive nor contradictory to my own.”

“My what?” Sirius looked confused for a second. “Oh, my doggy side? Most people wouldn’t agree; a grim is a death omen according to the wizards.”

One silver brow raised. “A dog is never merely a dog, Lord Black.”

The ex-prisoner paused. He felt like there was some significance in that phrase but it escaped him at the moment. “And Harry wants to be an animagus? How’d he even learn about them?”

“You agree to teach him, then?”

“I’d do anything for Harry, but-”

Sesshōmaru cut him off. “That is all the answer I require for now. You are exhausted; we will speak more tomorrow. The room you arrived in has been set aside for your use, food has been provided, and my servants are at your disposal. Do not leave the Suite, though no rooms within it are restricted.”

Sirius hesitated, then stood. He paused at the entrance, looking back with determination. “Bring Harry with you tomorrow, will you?”

The inuyōkai stared him down before lifting his chin a fraction. “Good night, Lord Black.”

The study door closed on the wizard’s parting words. “Good night, Lord Sesshōmaru.”

\--

Sirius sat at the small writing desk that had come furnished with the room. The remains of his dinner dishes were stacked on a tray nearby but he hadn’t gotten around to putting them outside the door yet. He had a sneaking suspicion that all of the servants in this place were dolls like that one that had taken his place in Azkaban. None of them spoke, no matter how much he prodded, and only nodded or shook their heads or stared at him blankly if he asked something more detailed than a yes or no question. He only hoped the blood donors had been willing.

The man himself was mystery upon mystery as well. When the glamour had dropped, Sirius had had to fight hard not to simply drop to his knees, and not entirely because of the press of the man’s wild magic. When he’d given his title, something had perked up in the back of his mind. Hadn’t his father mentioned something about that House once? Orion had probably been drunk at the time, but there was something definitely familiar trying to press through his haze of pre-Azkaban memories. As soon as he had access to it, he’d have to raid his father’s library.

Pushing thoughts of his rescuer and his household from his mind, he refocused on the parchment in front of him. Even if he never got to send it, he had a letter that desperately needed to be written. Taking a deep breath, he steeled his nerves and picked up the gorgeous fountain pen he’d been provided with.

_Dear Remus..._


	6. Setting In Motion

“We will be eating lunch elsewhere,” Sesshōmaru informed them as they finished breakfast.

Shippō looked surprised for a moment, before nodding. “Casual clothing, then?”

The lord inclined his head and gestured for Harry to accompany him to the dojo. As soon as the dishes were cleared, Shippō ducked into the boy’s room to set out an appropriate outfit. He wrinkled his nose at how domestic he was being these days but, really, Harry was a good kid. Another year or so and Shippō could probably even start teaching him to mimic kitsune tricks. The thought cheered him up immensely. It had been too long since Shō had taken an interest in anything other than the shops, as well. Even Inuyasha had noticed and that was no mean feat.

Checking the time, and cocking an ear down the hall to be sure the other two would be a while yet, Shippō reached into his pocket and pulled out a small sheaf of what looked to be crude paper dolls. Kneeling, he pulled three from the stack and laid them gently on the floor. A thin brush and covered inkstone appeared from another pocket and the kitsune used them to scrawl a very specific set of characters onto the little bodies. Grinning faintly, he proceeded to whisper instructions on yōki-infused breath. Slowly, but gaining speed by the second, the paper dolls stood and grew until they were roughly fifty centimeters tall. Without delay, they began to pack up most of Harry’s clothing and toys. Shippō watched for a moment to make sure they were doing their jobs properly before heading into the study to bundle up some of the boy’s lessons. Just because they’d be at the Suite this afternoon didn’t mean he couldn’t get some practice in.

There was no real reason for Shippō to keep his tricks hidden, but they hadn’t really had time to sit down and explain the differences between yōki and the type of magic Harry could do. They’d told little Potter that he needed to get through some basic studies before he could learn anything more complicated, which magic certainly was. Plus there was the matter of his instructor to settle. Shō had only given him a brief summary of the man he’d pulled from the horrendous island the wizards called Azkaban, but the kitsune was hopeful that Lord Black would consent to the terms Sesshōmaru would lay out this afternoon. Tradition was important to yōkai and wizards alike, after all, and the man would be much better than books at teaching that side of things. Darting back down the hall to check on his paper-mononoke, the kitsune snickered to himself. _Black and White, huh? Couldn’t have planned better myself._

\--

Harry tried hard not to stare as he was led into what Shippō had told him was called the Suite. He’d then asked, of course, what the rooms above the shop were named and was told laughingly that so long as Sesshōmaru occupied them, they were simply ‘home.’ The Suite was much more elaborate than the simple wood floors and clean lines of home and, even though it was beautiful here, he missed the warm comfort of their Oxford Street rooms.

A silent butler had met them at the front door, bowing slightly as they swept in and the two yōkai dropped their disguises. With barely a gesture, the quartet was moving down the hall where the butler waved them through a set of open doors leading to an airy dining room. Harry tilted his head as he spotted another man standing by one of the tall windows. The man straightened, turning as they entered, and Harry could have sworn the stranger froze for the briefest moments when his grey eyes swept over him but the moment was gone and the man stepped around the table to give a sweeping, elaborate bow that he suspected was more than half in jest. “Sirius Black, the Lord Black of Black,” he introduced with a smile.

Tipping his head towards Sesshōmaru, Lord Black gestured faintly with his chin. “Who’s the redhead?”

Shippō stepped forward and bowed slightly. “I am the Inu no Taisa,” he grinned cheekily and slipped Harry a wink. “But you can call me Shippō.”

Sirius still looked a little confused, so the kitsune gave a more genial smile and explained. “I act as the Inu no Taishō’s aide and advisor. Technically I’m also the ambassador from the Southern Court, but that’s only because the last one... didn’t work out,” he finished with a little wince.

“Didn’t work out?”

“I do not share the Southern Lord’s rather high opinion of his wife’s brothers,” Sesshōmaru blandly interjected.

There was a beat of silence before Sirius barked a rusty laugh. Turning his attention to the shortest member of their gathering, however, he sobered quickly. Harry straightened minutely and tried to emulate Sesshōmaru’s stoicism as he introduced himself. “Harry Potter, Lord Sesshōmaru's ward.”

The man gave a slow, sad nod. “I am aware.”

Harry looked up at Sesshōmaru inquiringly. The inuyōkai obliged with a tip of his chin. “Lord Black knew your parents quite well. Due to circumstances outside his control, he was unable to care for you until I retrieved him."

Harry glanced between the two lords with shock and a creeping awe. Sesshōmaru continued with only the barest pause. “If there are no objections, he will accompany us and instruct you in human magics. Lord Black,” he added, seeing Harry glance back at the wizard and smile tentatively, “is capable of becoming a dog as well.”

That sealed the deal. Bright green eyes widened impossibly as he looked up at Sirius pleadingly. “Will you teach me? Please?” he begged.

The man chuckled softly, still rusty but unavoidable in the face of his best friend’s son’s pleading. “You have to master a lot of other things before we can see what your animagus form is. It might not be a dog, even. Your father was a stag.”

Harry looked confused for a second, little black brows tipping down before he smoothed it away with a grin and turned to the kitsune beside him. “Well, a fox is okay too, right Shippō? With lots of tails?”

The redhead ruffled Harry’s already messy hair. “You’re too young to have more than one, kit.”

The boy pouted a little but perked up almost immediately, turning back to Sirius, completely missing the way he’d watched their interaction with more than a little wistfulness and regret. “Can we have a lesson right now?”

A faint shift of Sesshōmaru’s sleeve in the corner of his eye had him correcting himself before the wizard had a chance to form an answer. “I mean, may we please have a lesson right now, Lord Black?”

Sirius shook his head with a rueful smile. “Your lord and his advisor might be able to do magic without a wand, but most wizards need one. Any lessons will have to wait. Besides,” he winked as the maid appeared in the doorway with a covered cart, “I think it’s time for lunch.”

\--

Remus Lupin couldn’t stop himself from pacing his living room. The flat he was renting was small, on the outskirts of London proper, but it was the best he could afford on his meagre salary. He hadn’t heard anything from Moody since the Order meeting, but the werewolf knew the old Auror would contact him when there was more substantial information than rumors and hearsay. Right now he was waiting on Minerva so that they could go over their options regarding Harry. What he was younger, Remus never would have thought the no-nonsense Transfiguration teacher would do anything that ran counter to the Headmaster’s plans, but then he’d seen her shout Albus down in Order meetings when she thought he was taking too much risk with other peoples’ lives. Remus had realised then that the stern disapproval that so many young Gryffindors - and her students in general - wasn’t reserved for those she taught and, in fact, was even fiercer when applied to those she felt had the experience to know better.

A brisk knock snapped him out of his restless musings, and he checked the peephole to see his ex-professor standing primly in the hallway, observing her surroundings with mild distaste. He unlocked the door, opening it with his drawn wand hidden behind his body just in case, and invited the Scotswoman in.

“Would you like some tea, Professor? I’d offer to take your cloak, but I’m actually rather grateful you didn’t wear one.” He gave a wry smile. “Some of my neighbors can be quite the busybodies.”

Minerva gave him a stern look at the address, but it melted into a smile as she swept inside. “Yes, I had a feeling Muggle clothing would be a bit more appropriate. Tea would be lovely, Remus, thank you.”

They made small talk as he fixed the pot. Boiling water in his little electric kettle may have taken a bit longer, but he’d always thought it tasted better than magically heating it. When they both had a steaming mug in their hands and settled in his two worn but comfortable armchairs, they got down to business.

“Did you know about Harry’s living situation?” Remus questioned tightly.

The Deputy Headmistress sighed. “I guessed that it would be bad, but not like this.”

The werewolf visibly bristled at her admission, but she held up a hand to stall his recriminations. “I watched the house for a day, Mr. Lupin, and what I saw did not give me confidence. The husband was off early for work but the wife simply gossiped about the neighbors all day as she stuffed all manner of unsuitable foods into her child. I thought that the Harry Potter we would see six years from now would be soft-bellied, vindictively snide, and quite likely terminally lazy. Possibly even a bully. I did not expect the Dursleys to swing the opposite way and treat the child so badly he would bolt.”

Remus settled back, taking a fortifying sip of his tea. Minerva sighed again and toyed with her own untouched mug. “Albus assured me it was the safest place for him but as adults, our definition of the word is often much different than that of the children we seek to protect.”

He felt the wolf’s instincts buck at the resignation in her tone. “And the Headmaster wants to return him to that place once he’s been found,” he snarled.

“He does,” she murmured, eyes distant and sad.

“Well I won’t do it, Minerva!” Remus nearly slammed his mug down on the low table between them. Running his hands through his hair, he took to pacing again to relieve some of his agitation. “Dumbledore ordered me to stay away once and now that he wants my help I refuse to let Harry slip through my fingers again! If I find James and Lily’s son, I _won’t_ hand him back over to the Dursleys, no matter what the Headmaster’s done for me in the past.”

“Pacem, Remus. I agree entirely.”

“I mean, I’m grateful for--” He stuttered to a stop, swinging around to pin his guest with shock in his amber eyes. “Y-you agree?”

Minerva nodded primly, finally sipping at her tea. “If Harry felt the need to escape that horrid household, then it only proves me right. They were the worst sort of Muggles, just not in the way I had originally thought.”

She pinned him with a stern look, waving the younger man back to his seat. “I wish I hadn’t been right, of course, but all we can do now is try to find the boy and make sure he’s safe. This lord... It’s a shame we couldn’t have met him before he took custody, but what’s done is done. That is something Albus has always had trouble accepting.”

Remus gave a wry chuckle, sinking back into his armchair. “It’s not usually a bad thing.”

The aged professor smiled fondly in agreement. “No, not usually. Now, tell me what you were going to write to those lawyers and I’ll see if it needs any work.”

“Wha-? How-?” He spluttered for a moment. “How did you know I planned to write them?”

She replied with a mildly disappointed look. “You just told me you wouldn’t let the boy slip through your fingers and now you’re saying you won’t be writing to our only guaranteed contact? I may be getting old, Mr. Lupin,” she snapped, “but I am certainly not getting stupid.”

Remus chuckled, blushing under the reprimand, and ducked into the bedroom to snag the half-completed letter from his messy desk. With the backing of one of the few professors who could out-stubborn Albus Dumbledore and the shadow support of one of the most successful Aurors the Ministry had ever seen, the werewolf felt hope surge in his chest in a way it hadn’t since James and Lily had died. He may be barred from adopting his best friends’ child, but he’d be doubly damned before he was cut from the boy’s life again without a fight.

\--

While Shippō distracted Harry with lessons in the parlour, the two lords retreated to the study to cover the specifics of their arrangement. They settled in their seats in a less hostile parody of Dursley’s visit, the butler silently serving tea before withdrawing. Silence reigned for the first few minutes, broken only by the clink of china as they each sampled the fine blend.

“I took the liberty of posting your letter,” Sesshōmaru began, voice dark and smooth.

Sirius started, nearly spilling his drink as he looked up at the inuyōkai with wild grey eyes. “You what?” he spluttered.

“Since you do not currently have access to anything outside these walls, your letter was passed on to me. I arranged for it to be sent by your wizards’ usual means, as there was no accompanying address.” One fine silver brow rose. “Was this not your intention when you left it on your dinner tray last night?”

“Yeah, no,” he groaned, “I’m wasn’t even sure I was ever going to send it.”

Sesshōmaru shrugged minutely as if to say ‘what’s done is done’ and set his cup aside to slide a long piece of parchment across the desk. “Now that my ward has agreed, here is the formal contract for your services.”

Sirius read through the document thoroughly, his grandfather’s lectures on loopholes and hidden compulsions and forfeits ringing in the back of his mind. After several long minutes, he set it back on the desk, meeting the impassive golden gaze across from him with much more ease than he felt. Taking a deep breath, he shook his head reluctantly. “I cannot accept these terms.”

The young Lord Black knew he’d be bargaining from the lesser position, but the contract as it stood had the power to cripple him in a way Azkaban could never hope to. There was a flash of fangs so quick it might have been imagined, but he shoved it aside and gamely forged on. “I will not give up my name - the Black title, duties and holdings - for the mere _attempt_ at gaining me a trial and _possibly_ my freedom. The Black name carries a weight in wizarding society that can change more than just the lives of Harry and myself, even when not used to the capacity I could were I a free man.”

He sighed faintly, trying for calm. “That doesn’t even touch on this tentative teaching-specific position with my godson. Once he’s learned everything I know, will you remove me from his life? Without my name, a future such as that would ruin me more than losing Harry forever.”

Sesshōmaru watched him in silence before inclining his head a fraction, the shadow of approval hovering behind his cool assessment. The parchment was withdrawn and another pressed forward. One pale, clawed hand prevented Sirius from reaching for it immediately. The inuyōkai’s smooth voice drew his attention from the new document. “The decision to continue associating with you once you are no longer his teacher lies with my ward. I should hope that scenario is years from now, unless you allow your own knowledge to stagnate.”

The wizard barely stopped himself from grinning in relief. Hopefully Harry would let him visit long after he needed the animagus for lessons. He’d certainly have at least the next few years to get in the boy’s good graces as they got to know each other better.

The lord continued, seemingly unaware of his guest’s thoughts. “As for your title, this Sesshōmaru is singularly uninterested in claiming it. Under the terms of this contract,” his nails clicked once across the document in question, “the same trio of lawyers seeing to my ward’s properties would take over the daily management of your assets until you express interest in resuming those duties. The wording is such as to allow ample time for not only your innocence to be proven in the human court of law, but also to provide you with the oppourtunity to recover from your false imprisonment and give my ward several years of uninterrupted tuition. All large decisions would still pass through your hands, but daily maintenance and minor issues would follow a set of guidelines approved beforehand.”

Sirius felt the main bulk of the tension between his shoulderblades uncoil. Picking up the new contract when Sesshōmaru removed his hand to gather up his tea again, he read it through twice to be sure the inuyōkai spoke the truth. Finally, with a faint grin, he set it down again and leaned over the desk, ignoring the fountain pen placed near the edge. Concentrating as he’d been taught as soon as he was named heir, the wizard called for his signet ring. It appeared on his finger as though it had never been taken, and Sirius was just shy of gleeful as he pressed its familiar weight to the parchment in lieu of his signature. Magic swirled, heady after so long a drought, and the pitch-coloured Seal of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black formed beneath his hand.

Sesshōmaru’s mouth was open slightly when he glanced up again and it took a moment for the animagus to realise he was _scenting_ the power in the air. Without a word, the pale lord pressed a slim block of jade beside the signet ring’s imprint. A bloom of unfamiliar power, just as intoxicating to Sirius’ senses, and the crimson Seal of the House of the West formed, completing their contract.

The inuōykai rolled the parchment and set it aside with little fanfare. “Now that that is settled, please make a list of what you will require in order to teach my ward. Priority should be given to that which cannot be obtained outside of Britain. We leave for the United States tomorrow afternoon, barring any further delays.”

Black shrugged off the pressing departure date. “When will I be able to talk to these lawyers of yours? Some matters of family business should probably be cleared up as soon as possible.”

“Can they be done from foreign soil?”

He thought about it for a moment, then shrugged and nodded. The goblins had a presence nearly everywhere, after all. In answer, Sesshōmaru laid his fingers on a delicate figurine Sirius had taken for a paperweight. The carved mongoose seemed to _twist_ briefly before settling back down. “They will meet us in Atlanta,” the pale lord informed him simply.

Feeling much more light-hearted than he had since his imprisonment, Sirius nodded and thanked his host before excusing himself. He’d take all the time he could get learning about the child his godson had become in his absence. Getting to know the redheaded minder wasn’t such a bad idea either. The kid looked like he could pull a prank, and the Marauder in him very much liked to befriend anyone who shared his first love.

\--

“What have you found, Severus?”

Albus had accepted his Potion Master’s invitation for a chess game after dinner - a thinly veiled request for a chat - and they sat in comfortable chairs before the fire. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Snape gestured helplessly at the small table set between them. It was overflowing with parchments covered in the younger man’s sharp handwriting, weighed down with obscure books and scrolls.

“Not much I can readily confirm, Albus, but enough to know you won’t be able to force anything from this lord he doesn’t want.”

Dumbledore frowned lightly, not yet ready to believe that assessment. “What do you mean?”

Severus sighed and stood, pacing over to his small liquor cabinet and withdrawing a particularly well-aged whiskey. Pouring himself a good measure, he turned and eyed his employer shrewdly from across the room. After a moment, he raised his glass, turning his attention to the amber glow of candlelight through his drink. “‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ He’s not human,” he finished flatly, tossing the whiskey back.

“All the more reason to get Harry back. I may not approve of the current creature laws, but surely--”

Severus cut him off with a bitter laugh. “Oh, he won’t fall under any of those, Albus. The closest wizard you could compare him to would be an animagus.”

Bushy white eyebrows rose, and the Headmaster settled back in his seat to stroke his beard. After a moment, he questioned lightly, “Unregistered?”

The Potions Master snorted and poured himself another drink. “ _Like_ an animagus, not _is_.”

Sweeping back to the little table, the younger man dug his copy of the letter out from the pile of parchment. Heavily annotated - in red, of course - he thrust it at Dumbledore impatiently. “I suppose it was too much to ask for you to translate his title on your own.”

The older man frowned again, accepting the missive and skimming the additions. Absently, he remarked, “His titles were in English; there was nothing to translate.”

The sneer on Severus’ face, when Dumbledore glanced back up, was of the kind normally reserved for Marauders and particularly dense seventh year Gryffindors. “Inu no Taishō isn’t his name,” he bit out scathingly. “It’s his position.”

The Headmaster glanced back down to the notation beside the closing address. “‘The Great Dog General?’ I confess I’ve never heard a title like it,” he admitted.

Severus threw himself into his chair and stared into the fire with a moody shrug. He nursed his whiskey as Albus carefully reread the letter and all its annotations. After a long silence, he sighed. “What do you recommend?”

“Write the lawyers and do whatever they tell you,” the younger man replied testily, finishing his second drink.

The Headmaster rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “And if they tell us to leave poor, young Harry with this... dog? I cannot condone such a thing.”

“You aren’t listening, Albus,” the Potions Master ground out, wandlessly banishing his glass so his hands were free to emphasise his point. “The title is literal. He’s not just _a_ dog, he’s _the_ dog! As far as I can find, the man is over a thousand years old, and the father he inherited his title from didn’t exactly die of _old age_. There is nothing you can do except what he allows.”

Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully and stood, setting Severus’ copy of the letter back on top of the teetering mound of research. Just as he reached the door, Snape called out to him again. “If you ignore what I’ve told you, I’m not responsible for the consequences. We never had this conversation.”

Once the door clicked shut, Severus summoned the whiskey from the sideboard and a photo from his desk. Taking a deep pull from the bottle, he eyed the picture solemnly. “You won’t make me a fool a third time, Albus.”


	7. Recce and Kizeme

Shippō snickered lightly at the almost identical expressions of awe that Harry and the Lord Black shared as they pressed their faces to the windows of Sesshōmaru’s private jet. The kitsune was sure that Harry at least would be dead asleep by the time they landed, but for now the wizards were too caught up in their first aeroplane ride to care about anything but the view.

When they had been in the air for a while, the novelty of staring out the windows worn away by the endless blue and white of the sky, Sirius entertained his godson with a book of fantastical creatures and stories of his own encounters with some of the beasts within. Shippō took the oppourtunity to settle next to his nominal boss. One eye on the two humans laughing across the jet, he murmured quietly, “You know I’ll have to leave almost as soon as we land, right?”

Golden eyes touched on him briefly before returning to the paperwork spread out before them. “I am aware.”

“Dunno how the kid’ll take it,” the kitsune sighed.

Sesshōmaru watched his ward for a few moments, huffing a soft noise of reproach towards the redhead. “He will cope. You will not always be there and he will need to learn independence, in any case.”

Shippō nodded. “Still, I’ll be back as soon as I’m allowed. Shouldn’t be too many things needing my attention anyway.”

Sharp nails clicked once in warning as the inuyōkai’s voice chilled slightly. “You doubt this one after all this time? There is no need to hasten your return unduly; this Sesshōmaru has had plenty of experience with children, human or not.”

“Yeah,” Shippō agreed wistfully, smiling in the face of his friend’s ire, “But what I’m really worried about is who’s gonna cook.”

\--

Sirius almost couldn’t believe the sheer number of people milling around the airport when they landed, despite the late hour. He followed the two yōkai through without question, Harry fast asleep on his back, and into the sleek car that waited outside. The appearance of the stiff chauffeur reminded him of the silent servants in London and, with his godson down for the night, the privacy of the ride looked to be the best chance he had of getting answers. Still, it was almost halfway through their drive before he managed to broach the subject.

“They are not simulacra,” Sesshōmaru denied flatly. “It is an insult to call them such.”

Shippō laughed lightly. “It’s alright; he was only asking.” Turning back to Sirius, he patted the wizard on the shoulder. “Most of Shō’s ‘servants’ are house spirits. They care for the home and its inhabitants in exchange for, ah, _room and board,_ essentially. You aren’t able to communicate with them the normal way, really. They rely on ki fluctuations, for the most part, to anticipate the needs of their household.”

“So they’re like…” Sirius struggled to make a comparison that made sense. “Like house elves that speak a foreign language?”

“Er, no,” the kitsune hedged, glancing at the faint sneer on the inuyōkai’s face. “While they do inhabit the house they look after and they’re nominally sustained by the ki of whoever is living there, they’re not bound to any one family. They’re free to go anytime they want and have no obligation to do anything at all. They don’t have to follow orders if they don’t feel like it. The main bulk of their nourishment comes from the upkeep of their shrine and if it’s not well looked after, most spirits will become offended and leave.”

He paused, taking in the human’s bewildered expression with something close to pity. “Shō is powerful enough and has provided solid homes for these spirits for so long that they are able to take on a human-like form. Because he doesn’t ask much, what orders he does issue are followed with something more like fond acceptance.”

“Oh,” Sirius mumbled. After a long moment, he tilted his head slightly. “A shrine?”

Shippō tilted his head quizzically. “Didn’t you explore the Suite?” Getting only a noncommittal shrug in answer, the redhead continued with one of his own. “In the parlour is a small altar where we burn incense and leave offerings.”

“But you’re here,” the animagus pointed out reasonably. “Won’t those guys in London leave if you aren’t there to supply those offerings and, uh, ki?”

“Hanami knows her duties,” Sesshōmaru rumbled from his place near the window. “As do all of my vassals.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

\--

After breakfast the next morning, as Shippō was placating Harry over his need to leave, Sirius brought up the next item on his mental agenda. “Before I can teach Harry, I need a wand. Do you know if there’s a wizarding center nearby? If they happen to have a Gringotts branch here also, I can do some of that family business I needed to take care of.”

Sesshōmaru slanted a glance his way, then seemed to ignore him as he returned to watching his ward unsuccessfully attempt to persuade the kitsune to stay. “Enough,” his soft command cut through the noise.

Immediately the two quieted, Harry’s mournful green eyes turned back to his lord. Unperturbed, the inuyōkai continued. “It is unbecoming of the House to beg as you are. Shippō has errands he must complete, as do we.”

Sesshōmaru began down the stairs, confident that he would be followed. One half of the tanuki duo that ran the shops met them at the back door, avidly watching the byplay, ears obviously having been tuned to the argument above. Still pouting slightly, Harry managed to snag a last goodbye hug from his redheaded friend before Shippō slipped away. Huffing in feigned annoyance, the inuyōkai gestured the stranger forward. Obediently, the brown-haired young man shuffled closer, bowing in greeting.

“Hello little lord,” he began with a grin, kneeling to be closer to the child. “I understand you’re Lord Sesshōmaru’s new ward. I’m pleased to meet you.”

Harry turned to the new face, studying the sharp teeth, pointed ears, and heavily black-rimmed eyes. Tilting his head, he caught a glimpse of a fluffy ringed tail before it flicked away. The tanuki smiled wider and twitched the appendage back into view. Rather than his name, the first thing out of Harry’s mouth was, “Are you a raccoon? I saw one at the park once that had a tail like yours.”

Sirius covered his smile hastily, though the yōkai in question didn’t bother and barked out a small laugh. “I am, little lord. You may call me Daisuke.”

“I’m Harry Potter,” he finally remembered to introduce himself.

Daisuke nodded and stood, turning curious eyes on Sirius, who offered his own name readily. Growing impatient, Sesshōmaru moved towards the door, the image of Mr White settling around him easily. Daisuke made to open it hastily, his own disguise wiping the marks from his face and vanishing his tail. Harry took up his place without prompting, and the animagus raised his eyebrows in surprise. Shrugging away memories of his own childhood etiquette lessons, he followed the trio into the black car from the night before.

They emerged in front of an elegant neo-gothic stone building a handful of streets away. Neat gold letters printed on the windows above the bank of heavy brass doors proclaimed it to be City Hall. Feeling somewhat like a tourist, Sirius tried not to stare at everyone and everything they passed on their way through the morning crowd of government workers and civilians entering alongside them. He felt the tingle of muggle-repelling and notice-me-not charms wash over them as they turned down a little-used side hallway. Stopping at the blank marble wall that dead-ended the passage, Daisuke moved forward and pressed his hand to a faint groove that had been worn, chest-height for the average adult human, in the stone. Like a curtain parting, the marble flowed back into a gothic-pointed archway, revealing the sprawling street on the other side.

“Welcome,” the tanuki grinned for the wizards’ benefit, bowing with an exaggerated flourish, “to Tradition Alley.”

\--

Minerva McGonagall kept her worry well contained as she swept down the street towards Remus’ flat. She’d been there only the day before, but a desperate Patronus message brought her rushing back, barely restraining herself from apparating directly into his living room, no matter how rude it was. Knocking briskly, the Scotswoman didn’t even have time to fidget before the door was yanked open and a markedly distressed Lupin ushered her inside.

“What is it Remus? Are you alright? Have you had news?”

“Of a sort. It’s not Harry. Well, it’s a little about Harry. Just… just read this.”

He shoved a few crumpled pieces of parchment into her hands and flitted off to make tea, leaving her to seat herself. Her first glance down had her inhaling sharply in shock; she’d recognise that scrawling handwriting almost anywhere, shaky as it was. She skimmed the missive, phrases jumping out at her; ‘ _I’m sorry,_ ’ ‘ _never the Secret Keeper,_ ’ ‘ _chose Peter instead,_ ’ ‘ _Dumbledore agreed,_ ’ ‘ _fairly sure Peter escaped,_ ’ and the most chilling, heartening one: ‘ _I’ll see Harry soon._ ’

She sank shakily into the chair she’d used previously, reading and rereading the letter as if the repetition could force the words into making more sense. Finally she lifted her eyes to his, taking the mug he offered numbly. There was silence in the flat for several long minutes before Minerva’s face twisted into a horrible grimace and she had to set the tea down lest she throw it across the room. “That absolute _bastard,_ ” she snarled.

Before Remus could do more than start at the venom in her tone, she continued on. “He knew. Albus knew about the switch - that Sirius was innocent of James and Lily’s deaths. Even if he believed the boy to have killed Peter and those Muggles and that he ought to be punished for it, to leave him at the mercy of the Dementors for years with no trial--” she cut herself off, visibly reining in her temper. “Have you shown this to anyone else?”

The werewolf shook his head, curled defensively in the opposite chair. “It’s genuine, though. I can smell him on the letter, though the envelope is covered in someone else’s scent.”

Minerva shifted into her animagus form to nose curiously at the parchment. She reeled back abruptly, sneezing twice before changing back and conjuring a handkerchief. Passing the letter back she sniffed again, thoroughly distracted from Dumbledore’s role in Sirius’ plight. “Harry’s guardian,” she explained. “I’m certain it’s the same perfume as that on the first letter.”

His lips thinned in distaste but he only nodded. “There’s nothing we can do until Moody gets back from his reconnaissance then. If Sirius is with that lord, he probably counts as being part of the ‘House of the West’ and mail addressed to him ignored.”

“Might as well try,” she countered primly, a sly smile growing on her face. “And it doesn’t mean we can’t prepare for Alastor’s return as well; there’s no need to waste perfectly good plotting time, after all.”

If Remus’ answering grin edged into the feral, neither of them pointed it out.

\--

Alastor Moody grumbled to himself as he checked his glamours once more before stepping out of his lodgings in the Viale del Mago. He’d barely arrived in Palermo and already he was getting frustrated with his self-assigned stake out. It appeared that the lawyers, whoever they were, couldn’t be bothered to come into their own offices. The only employees he’d seen looked to be a pair of siblings, the younger of whom he estimated to be roughly seventeen and the elder around twenty-three. He’d spent the previous day ostensibly browsing the used bookshop across the street, having a bit of conversation with the proprietor on business in the area.

Today, he was going to take the morning to relax on the patio of the bar beside the bookstore before wandering the streets of Palermo, behaving much more like a tourist as he searched for signs of his primary target elsewhere in the city. Between the proximity of the magical street and his own paranoid suspicions on the nature of a people who would work for such an old family line, Alastor hadn’t wanted to risk turning his magical eye on the law office while distracted by the bookseller and genuine interest in the titles on display. Settling into a comfortable chair outside the bar, he sipped his marocchino and pretended to thumb through a rather fascinating text on Renaissance architecture, all the while focussing his attention on the aides moving about in the building across the street.

The first hour gained him nothing but an appreciation for Italian coffee and a new understanding of non-magical building techniques. He was debating packing up and moving on to exploring the city when a flutter of movement at the edge of his vision had him shifting his attention to the ‘permanently under renovation’ façade at the end of the road that covered the entrance to the Viale del Mago. Stifling a surprised curse, Alastor made sure not to draw attention to himself as he spotted the suit-clad, briefcase-wielding form of Albus Dumbledore strolling confidently up the thoroughfare.

\--

The Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry straightened his cuffs as he exited the International Portkey landing zone with as much dignity as he could muster. It had been a rough ride, but he hadn’t reached his age without picking up a few tricks for smoother travel. He took a moment to appreciate his surroundings - Italy was truly a beautiful country, he mused - as the sea breeze swept in to playfully rustle the cloaks and dresses of everyone on the street. Still, he had business to conduct, even if he’d like nothing more than to spend a few hours relaxing in the Mediterranean sun.

Steeling himself, the aged wizard unshrunk the dispatch case he’d packed and turned towards the wide, curtain-draped archway at one end of the main avenue. The entrance to the Viale del Mago had always unnerved him; the wind-ruffled fabric shrouding it reminded him of the Veil in the Department of Mysteries. There were, of course, no ghostly whispers coming through what the muggles thought was only tarpaulin-draped scaffolding, but the similarities were there and Albus had to stop himself from closing his eyes just to step through.

Muggle Palermo was calmer than he had expected, so used to the round-the-clock bustle of central London outside the Leaky Cauldron’s doors. Almost absently, he checked his pocket watch against the midmorning sun. What he actually checked was a compass, charmed to find the location of his choosing, disguised just as much as he currently was. Happily, the Headmaster noted that the artifact claimed his destination was nearby and a closer inspection of the street yielded an unassuming storefront with tastefully faded gold lettering announcing the offices of the three lawyers he’d come to Italy to find. Objective in sight, he adjusted his grip on the attaché that housed guardianship papers and contracts of his own for Harry to sign and started off down the narrow sidewalk.

There was no tinkling bell or anything so chintzy as Albus pulled open the dark-paneled door and stepped into the cool front office. A young woman stepped from a side room, welcome curiosity in her brown eyes. “ _Buongiorno, signore,_ ” she greeted brightly. “What brings you to us on a fine day such as this?”

“ _Buongiorno,_ ” the wizard returned through his translation charm, giving her a grandfatherly smile. Gesturing faintly towards his case, he continued somewhat ruefully. “I’m afraid it’s business that brings me here.”

She smiled back and gestured for him to follow her into the suite she’d emerged from. “Of course. Please, sit,” she insisted, ushering him to a delicately upholstered fauteuil situated a comfortable distance from one of the two desks within.

The teenage boy seated behind the other gave him a nod, standing and slipping out into the main room. He returned shortly with a trio of demitasses which he served before claiming a seat beside the young woman’s. Once they had all consumed their respective coffees and introduced themselves, the girl - Aveline - politely asked what sort of business he needed to conduct.

“Ah,” Albus sighed, “I was hoping to speak with one of the partners directly, actually.”

Aveline raised her brows at this, folding her hands atop her desk. “I regret to inform you they’re out of the country on business, signore. A very important client, you see? Very delicate.”

“I’m afraid this is rather delicate as well. A child is in grave danger and, because of his standing in Britain, there is rather a great import placed on keeping him safe. I was looking to gather some help on that front.”

The boy - Dante - peered up at him, ruffling his shaggy brown hair absently. “Shouldn’t then the British _polizia_ handle it? Grave danger is not particularly the specialty of our law office.”

“Especially one so removed from the source of the problem,” Aveline cut in, pinning the Headmaster with a suddenly sharp gaze. “Why have you come all this way to ask for our firm’s help? Surely there are qualified lawyers closer to home?”

Albus refrained from sighing. It had been a stretch to hope that he would be able to pull this off without giving up some advantages, but getting the wayward Boy-Who-Lived back under his aunt’s protection was a priority. Offering a reassuring, if slightly condescending, smile to the pair, the wizard finally opened the dispatch case he’d had on his lap during the brief meeting. He extracted a sheet of thick linen paper and placed it gently on the desk, gesturing for them to read it.

“I was given the name of this office from a reliable source,” he explained smoothly as Aveline scanned the missive. “I was told you would be able to help me.”

She passed the document to Dante before fixing him with another unblinking stare. After a moment of silence in which Albus very nearly held his breath, she nodded. “I believe I can offer you some assistance after all, signore,” she murmured with a distracted air. “You may have better luck in the City That Burned, but I know nothing further.”

Reclaiming the page and tucking it away, the white-haired man gave them a bright smile and stood. “Thank you my dears,” he twinkled as he turned towards the door. “Do have a good day.”

With that, he swept from the office and back onto the street. Not sparing more than a cursory glance around, the old wizard strode briskly back to the Viale del Mago. He had a lead to chase down and increasingly little time to do it in.

\--

Across the street from the offices of Savace, Otomi, and Parinata, Alastor Moody was having a hard time remaining calm. With a practiced hand, he discreetly canceled the eavesdropping charm he’d snuck onto the Headmaster’s tie pin. Whatever had been on that parchment had either been exceedingly convincing or backed up with a mild compulsion spell and Mad-Eye knew which he’d lay his money on being more true. While he’d dearly love to get his hands on whatever his ‘old friend’ was carrying around in that attaché case, the Auror also needed to get back to British soil soon. He had no doubt Albus would be following up on the information they’d both just received but he was also nearly certain that the Headmaster would head in the exact wrong direction. He needed to contact his co-conspirators as soon as possible to go over their options.

It was with those thoughts chasing themselves around his brain that the paranoid wizard calmly packed away his book and made his circuitous way back to his quarters to begin the long trek back to London.

\--

In an oddly-shaped house just outside the small village of Ottery St. Catchpole, a small rat with a missing toe was inching its way along the baseboards of the kitchen, eager for whatever it could scavenge.

“I just don’t see how it could have happened,” a plump redheaded witch was muttering crossly as she flicked her wand around, setting a lump of dough to knead, several carrots and potatoes to peel, and the breakfast dishes off to wash themselves. “Wasn’t there a watcher? Did no one check on the poor child?”

“Albus assures me that Arabella Figg was in the neighborhood and sent him regular reports,” her husband replied almost distractedly over his tea.

Molly Weasley sniffed, apparently unimpressed, and twitched her wand at the pot of stew on the stove, ensuring it was heating properly for lunch. “Honestly, the Headmaster should have just placed him with a nice solid wizarding family. Then at least we’d have known where he was and if he was being taken care of properly.”

Arthur sighed and rattled the pages of the morning edition ever so slightly. “You know why that couldn’t happen, my dear. The poor boy would have been mobbed by well-wishers and assassins alike before he was two if word got out where he’d been living.”

Molly sniffed again but relented. “Still, the thought of him alone, out in the muggle world, taken in by some strange man who claims to be protecting him. For all we know Harry Potter is dead in a ditch somewhere! It just isn’t right.”

She moved then to chase away some rambunctious dust bunnies and spotted the grey lump sitting along the wall. Frowning severely, she turned towards the stairs and yelled, “Percival Ignatius! This is the last time I’ll tell you! Come get your little rat before I decide to charm antlers on him and tell Mr Lovegood that I’ve found him a cerbolan!”

A deafening clattering brought a harried ten-year-old racing into the kitchen, wild-eyed at the thought of losing his pet. “Sorry mum,” he gulped, scooping the shivering creature up under the watchful eyes of his parents. “I thought I’d locked his cage. I’ll put him back right away.”

With that, he ducked out of the kitchen to do as promised, the rat cupped in his hands despairing of the lack of food it had been able to snatch but nonetheless stuffed with valuable knowledge that would take several days to digest.

\--

Halfway around the world, in a valley tucked between three hazardous mountain peaks sat a small collection of sprawling homes. Each had plaster walls punctuated by paper screens, low-peaked tile roofs, and extensive gardens, save one. High above its brethren, a large fortress sat like a throned emperor above its subjects, the single passable road into the valley leading directly to its feet. Though it was constructed much the same as the smaller buildings, it appeared devoid of the life flourishing below it and those villagers that hurried about in the approaching dusk seemed to avoid looking at the castle in their midst.

The wind blew gently through the open screens of the dark fortress, stirring trails of incense smoke and pulling tinkling music from the wind chimes hanging beneath the deep eaves. A pale hand stretched lazily out of the gloom, the action almost an afterthought for the bird that settled lightly on the offered fingers. The young sparrow warbled briefly before dipping its head and flitting away again. The hand withdrew and a spark flared before settling into the dull red ember of lit cigarette.

“So that’s how it is,” the smoker chuckled, white teeth flashing in the darkness. “Shihihi! I guess we’ll just have to see what the little pup has to say after all these years, mm?”

Only the chimes answered, ringing delicately in the silence.


End file.
